


You're the Key to My Cichol: a St. Cichol's Day Advent Calendar

by cthchewy



Series: Keyhole 'verse [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Advent Calendar, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BL/GD team up in the dumbest way, Crack, F/F, F/M, M/M, don't know if shitposting?, someone pls send help, this fic is shit and i still can't stop world building, yeet!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 26,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21844648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthchewy/pseuds/cthchewy
Summary: Hark! the herald angels sing,“Glory to the Saint Cethleann!Peace on earth, and Mercie mild,Goddess and Slithers reconci– No.  They are not reconciled.  KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM.”(an ode to Hubert’s soft bod & Ferdinand’s receding hairline)((okay, fine, it’s a modern fantasy university AU based on silly advent calendar prompts))
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Flayn/Monica von Ochs, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Series: Keyhole 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645483
Comments: 266
Kudos: 279





	1. You wake up to the sweet sound of an elf singing.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this on the 17th, with [a list of writing prompts for kids from 2017](https://www.imagineforest.com/blog/24-days-christmas-writing-prompts). Because I’m late, outdated, and a small child. Trufax. (We’re all infants in dragon loli years.)
> 
> This will most likely go on through January. Feel free to suggest pairings for characters who aren't already listed – no guarantees, but I might be able to slip them in.

**1\. You wake up to the sweet sound of an elf singing.**

On the first day of the Ethereal Moon, Ferdinand von Aegir wakes up to the sweet sound of an elf singing.

Okay, so the elf is more of a half-elf, and only elven in any sense when they play D&D (and really, half-elf bards are _so_ overdone), and she’s his neighbor and fellow theater major. He wakes up to her singing _every day_.

Today, however, he groans as dread immediately pools in his gut, and then flips over to bury his face in a pillow. It’s the first day of the Ethereal Moon. That means, as per the hastily drafted Black Eagles Dorm agreement everyone was forced to sign, Dorothea is now allowed to start singing Saint Cichol’s Day carols.

The only bright spot is that at least she didn’t start two months prior, like she tried to freshman year.

There is no goddess forsaken reason she should be so cheerful at such an early hour. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this melodious yet unholy wake up call. It’s not like Ferdinand is late for classes – he’s _never_ late. That would not be befitting a noble! Also, it’s Sunday. To be woken while it’s still dreary and dark outside on a Sunday, such blasphemy! And also… it’s the first of the Ethereal Moon.

Not only is caroling now officially allowed, but all other holiday activities too. It means dodging mistletoe traps and poisoned cookies, _most_ of which accidentally end up inedible. (Some are Hubert’s doing.) It means being drafted into snowball fights that turn into snowball wars and, while admittedly they are fun, the made up geopolitical strife gets so intense that they end up carrying on these rivalries throughout the year. Just once, _just once_ during the holiday season, Ferdinand wants to have tea with his bestie Lorenz without being condemned for “consorting with the enemy”.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Saint Cichol’s Day. He just wishes his dorm (actually all the students of GMU?) would be somewhat more normal in their celebrations. Garreg Mach was _supposed_ to be the most elite institution of higher learning in the entire country. Somehow he ended up surrounded by… not idiots, but _these people_.

Dorothea’s serenading fails to get him to leave his bed, so she resorts to pounding on the door to his room.

“Ferdie, wake the fuck up. You need to see this.”

“No,” he says, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, Ferdie has a cruuuush–!”

“No!” He bolts upright and begins throwing on clothes as fast as possible.

“Hurry up before I reveal your big secret through song and dance! Three… two…”

He bursts through the door. “Foul witch, cease your dark sorcery at once!”

The foul witch _giggles_. “Come downstairs, I swear it’s worth your while.”

There’s an awful lot of shouting coming from the lobby/lounge area. A lot of weird grunting, too. And gulping, and gasping. Is that a moan?!

“Awww, they’ve already started,” Dorothea says, and pulls him along faster.

It’s Caspar. And Raphael, visiting from the Golden Deer Dorm. Both of them are shirtless and sweaty, muscles bulging everywhere.

“You can do it, Caspar! Ungh! Yeah! Just a little more!”

“Nnngh! Raaa! I’m gonna do it!”

“You’re gonna do it!”

 _Gulp, gulp, gulp._ “Pwah! Uuuh, nngaah! I don’t think I can do it!”

“You can! You got this! Think of the gains, bro!”

“For the gains! Uuurrrraaaagh!”

Caspar is chugging an entire gallon of eggnog-flavored protein shake while Raphael cheers him on. Beside them, Petra is timing the whole debacle. Hubert is watching with nary an expression, just calmly sipping his coffee. It’s black, like his soul. And his stupid goth fashion sense. He looks unfairly good in turtleneck sweaters. They bring out the angles in his weird, sort of gaunt face.

“Ferdie, you’re blushing!” says the foul witch. She pokes his cheek. “Is it the sweaty muscle dudes or is it your cru–”

“Y’all need Sothis.” He interrupts her before she can say anything else and stomps off.


	2. In a rush, Santa forgot about one special present.

**2\. In a rush, ~~Santa~~ Saint Cichol forgot about one special present.**

Seteth is 35 going on 1000. As he stands by the pier to the fishing pond and looks to the dawn of a new day, he wonders if 35 is too young to get remarried. He wonders if 1000 is too old. His first wife only passed away five or nine-hundred-and-five years ago, after all. Such are the troubles of full-blooded Nabateans.

The first time he took a centuries long nap, he woke up to find that he had been “posthumously” sainted and his birthday had turned into a religious holiday. People worshiped him in conjunction with the winter solstice. They feasted and sang songs of his benevolence. Then he took another nap, this time in the Holy Mausoleum where he definitely would not be disturbed, or so he thought, and when he woke up…

“Who dares disturb me from my slumber?”

“Hey,” said the blank-faced woman. “Dean Macuil flew off in a rage. Literally. He sprouted wings and flew off as a giant bird-dragon-thing. He said it was his turn for a nap and he’s camping out in the northern desert now, so… we need a new dean for the university. You were recommended.”

When he woke up, _memes_ were a thing. The monastery had become a university, his birthday had become a commercialized gift-giving sham… and the young professor assigned to be his assistant in adjusting to the modern world was a _very_ lovely woman.

Byleth can stare anyone down into submission, which makes discipline much easier when combined with the disapproving look he’s perfected over centuries. She gets along with Flayn. She likes fishing. They go on fishing dates at the pond. This very pond.

They try to, anyway. The fishing dates are somehow always interrupted by students who have nothing better to do than spy on the teachers and staff. The GMU campus really needs some sort of wyvern shuttle bus into the city, he thinks. (Are wyverns outdated as a mode of transportation? …Wyverns are outdated.) Who thought it was a good idea to turn a monastery in the middle of the mountains into a university, anyway? Pent up college student hormones everywhere, and almost no way to regularly let loose _away_ from campus, thank you very much. (No, Sylvain, you may _not_ charter a party bus and expect it to come all the way up the treacherous winding mountain roads in the middle of the night. Do you want the whole thing to flip over and kill everyone?)

So everyone is pretty much stuck up in the mountains most of the time, staff apartments are provided for those who want them (which just leads to Manuela and Hanneman being unable to get out of each other’s faces and ending up hate-macking), and the students get particularly antsy during this time of the year, with finals coming up and winter vacation soon after.

The university hosts a lot of festive activities to help everyone blow off steam, one of which is to have Saint Cichol randomly distribute presents around the school. Ironically, Saint Cichol has to dress up as Saint Cichol for various holiday events. Ha. Ha.

What is this, a kindergarten? Did Macuil really agree to holding such events? Seteth is going to have a talk with his brother the next time their nap schedules match up some three or four millennia from now.

Here he is gazing out at the pond, having hastily wrapped a sleigh full of presents for the students. Dressed in red robes and a fake beard. And he’s hesitating before going on the first present-giving spree of the season because he had forgotten to wrap one, the most important one.

Byleth’s engagement ring.

He’s _not_ too old or too young to get remarried, Seteth tries to convince himself. Why hadn’t he wrapped the ring with the other presents? The surprise method was romantic, right? Maybe it just wasn’t the right way to propose… Yes, of course! Byleth deserves the _best_ proposal!

He’s going to catch that fish, the Pond Monster, that most elusive water beast. He’s going to catch it and present it to Byleth and Flayn, and immediately after he’ll take out the ring and ask Byleth to marry him! It’ll be the most romantic fishing expedition Garreg Mach’s pond has ever seen. Yes, _that’s_ the right way to propose.

“Cichol, my man, your reindeer’s here!” Professor Alois, arriving to help pull the sleigh, guffaws and slaps Seteth on the back, suddenly and forcefully.

The engagement ring falls – plop! – into the pond.

The Pond Monster gobbles it up.

Seteth screams.


	3. Knock knock, open up! There’s a Grinch at your door.

**3\. Knock knock, open up! There’s a Grinch at your door.**

The Black Eagles Dorm agreement has 95 rules, much like the 95 theses that Edelgard’s ancestor, the great Empress Maat von Hresvelg, nailed to Garreg Mach’s cathedral door five centuries ago. It apparently caused enough of a scandal that the Archbishop at the time, a Lady Rhea, grew so apoplectic with rage that she burst out of her human meatsack and flew off into the horizon as a white dragon. According to her brothers who took over afterward, she’s taking a nap somewhere to cool down.

But yes, when Edelgard took over as RA, she sat everyone down and they all hashed out their grievances, which were then codified. Rule number 81 is that no Saint Cichol’s Day celebrations may begin before the first of the Ethereal Moon. Rule number 54 is the notoriously open-to-interpretation “no creeping”.

Some people contend that this rule is unfair because creep is Hubert’s natural state of being. These comments were not taken well at the time, but it’s still true that Hubert emits a dark aura, and there are those who are sensitive to it.

Ferdinand is not one who is sensitive to Hubert’s creeping, or at least not naturally. He’s been surprised by Hubert many, many times over the course of their acquaintance, starting from the very first time he, still in diapers, was plopped in front of Edelgard to be her new playmate, and baby Hubert rushed out from the shadows to hiss at him. He seriously hissed. There’s video evidence of this. Their parents thought it was cute.

Currently, Ferdinand is typing up an essay in his room when he gets the sense that Hubert is out there, creeping/existing. It’s not actually Hubert he’s sensing, but the sudden lack of joy. Where there had once been ambient chatting and giggling, there is now Hubert-induced silence.

He shivers, turning to the door. Should he open it? Maybe Hubert will go away if he plays dead.

No such luck. He knocks instead, and Ferdinand feels it is only polite to answer. Warily, he opens the door.

“Come,” Hubert says. “Your presence is requested at a strategy meeting.”

“Now?”

Hubert’s eyes narrow. “Now.”

“I couldn’t have been informed of this beforehand?”

“We’ve just received crucial information on the war effort.”

‘War effort,’ he says, like it’s an actual life or death situation. It’s really just a snowball fight that got way out of hand because Edelgard and Dimitri are both too intense and don’t know how to have sibling rivalries like normal people. They raise armies instead. And then Claude in the Golden Deer dorm felt lonely, so he raised an army too. They’ve been fighting this ‘war’ for three years.

They enter the rec room, and Hubert shuts the door behind them. Dorothea and Edelgard are already there, with the former lounging saucily on the pool table.

“My generals,” Edelgard says to the three of them. She begins pacing as she speaks. “War is upon us once more. For too long, the Black Eagles and Blue Lions have been locked in a war of attrition while the Golden Deer taunt us both from the sidelines with the possibility of gaining their support to end this conflict. We should know by now that they ally with no one – _Claude_ allies with no one. His trust issues will not allow him to do so until it is too late.”

“I thought it was just because he’s a troll,” Dorothea says. “He likes the game way too much, so he’ll sabotage both sides to keep us evenly matched.”

“Well, yes, that too,” Edelgard concedes.

Something bothers Ferdinand about Edelgard’s descent into villainous monologue. “Wait, you said ‘until it is too late’. What does that mean?”

“Very astute.” An unholy gleam enters her eyes. “I have consulted with Hubert, and we have run many scenarios. The chances of the Golden Deer joining forces with us is zero. They have merely been baiting us with the possibility. However, it _is_ possible for them to join the Blue Lions, which we will push them to do, and destroy them both at once.”

“That seems very bad for us, waging a two front war.”

“Oh, it would be, if we didn’t have other allies. You see, Black Eagles is for life. Monica is still one of us even after the transfer.”

Dorothea gasps. “No.”

“Yes. This year, our secret strike force is the students of Shambhala Tech.”

Ferdinand is shooketh. That night, as he lies in bed wide awake, staring at the gross popcorn ceiling of his room, he comes to the conclusion that he cannot betray his noble sense of justice. He cannot be ruled by an emperor so craven as to invite GMU’s most hated rival school onto their sacred campus just to one-up her brother.

It is with a weary heart that he realizes he must defect.


	4. Santa's given up and given his job to you for a whole year.

**4.** ~~**Santa** ~~ **Saint Cichol’s given up and given his job to you for a whole year.**

Lady Rhea led the Church for a long while before she flew off for a nap somewhere – no one knows where – so leadership had fallen to her brother Indech, who thought, “Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely if there were less soldiers and more students!” Every year that he was in charge, there were less soldiers and more students until there were no soldiers at all and the academy within Garreg Mach had taken over the entire place.

Then he went to take a nap and forced his brother Macuil to watch his “lovely little children” while he was asleep. Problem was, Macuil hated children. And people in general. Byleth had only been working there for about a year before _he_ flew off for a nap. These ancient world dragons sure love their sleep.

It’s now the third brother’s turn. Cichol, or Seteth as he calls himself now, is looking quite stressed. He’s not normally one for effusive displays of happiness or lots of PDA or anything, but this time Seteth’s grumpiness has a desperate edge to it. He’s pacing around and grumbling under his breath. Byleth really hopes he’s not about to dragon-yeet himself out the window like Macuil did.

First, because they’re in the dean’s office which is in one of the original historical buildings, and that stained glass is worth more than her salary for the next decade. Second, because Seteth is her boyfriend, and it would suck to get dumped so dramatically.

Emotions are always… difficult. Maybe she’s not the best at showing it, but she _does_ really like Seteth. He’s a good man. His daughter’s cute. He likes fishing. Byleth is not well-versed in relationships, but fishing is… fishing is romance, right?

It dawns on her that if Seteth leaves, she’ll lose her _fishing partner_. That’s… there are no words to describe how devastating that would be. A horrible pain seizes in her chest at the thought. It’s such a strange and unfamiliar feeling. Is this, perhaps, heartbreak? Oh. Oh, no. It would hurt much more if he did leave! She has to be, uh, supportive. And stuff. In his time of need. That’s what a good fishing partner should do.

She asks, quietly, “What’s wrong?”

Seteth stops his pacing. There’s a blush high on his cheeks, which is cute even when paired with the scowl taking over the rest of his face. “I can’t do it anymore. They keep making… they keep talking about putting things in my _keyhole_ , Byleth! As a sex joke! ‘The holiest hole!’ No, no, I am not dressing as Saint Cichol anymore.”

“You don’t have to dress like it when you _are_ Saint Cichol. The real one.”

“Yes, but _they_ don’t know that, and I’d prefer to keep it that way, lest the keyhole jokes follow me throughout the year!”

“Oh. Okay. We can find someone else to do it.”

He blinks once. Twice. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. Was that all you were worried about?”

“Ah, yes, actually. I’m sorry for unleashing my frustrations on you, Byleth.” He lifts her hand and plants a small kiss on the back of it.

Byleth sighs, relieved that all is well in their fishing partnership.

The hated Saint Cichol costume is lying on the office couch. She picks up the shirt, eyeballing the measurements, then slips it on overhead. It fits fine, a tad bit baggy, but nothing a belt won’t fix. The pants should be fine, too. “Not bad. I can do the rest of the gift deliveries.”

Seteth’s blush has returned when she glances his way, or perhaps it never left. “It looks good on you,” he says.

Byleth nods. “Thanks.” Then a thought occurs and she idly wonders, “Wait, if I’m Saint Cichol now, am I holiest hole?”

Seteth has no response to that except choking noises. Huh. Weird.


	5. Instead of coal, Santa turns you into a reindeer for being naughty

**5\. Instead of coal, ~~Santa~~ Saint Cichol turns you into a reindeer for being naughty.**

Professor Byleth is Sylvain’s favorite professor. Everyone loves her, if only because she’s so unabashedly herself all the time. Professor Byleth takes shit from no one. For someone so notoriously emotionless, her face of disapproval is legendary. And yet, that same professor likes to pass out candy and flowers and awkward head pats in her classes.

Most students will have class with Professor Byleth at least once, in some entry level math course they have to take to fulfill liberal arts requirements. Sylvain, however, switched majors so he could take more of her classes, even if that meant he had to give up on his dream of coasting by in all the easiest courses and using all his free time to flirt up a storm. Physics majors don’t get to “not study”. He’s up to his neck in theoretical mathematics now, and he did that to himself because he was chasing after Byleth’s cool big sis energy at a time when his family problems were at their worst.

It made Byleth happy, too. GMU isn’t exactly a big campus – cozy is more like it, but even then, the higher level math courses are downright lonely. They got shoved into a converted storage room once, just wheeled in some white boards and a single long table and got down to it… because the class had four students.

Byleth is more family than his actual family at this point. Sylvain would follow her anywhere, proven by how he even outed himself as a nerd for her. So yeah, he listens when she tells him to do stuff. He listens to her when she calls him to her office and says, “Sylvain. We need to talk about the party bus.”

“Um, yeah? What about it?”

“What you have done is an affront to decency and has stained the name of this esteemed institution. You have recklessly endangered the lives of your underclassmen who look to you for guidance, and exposed them to lewd and obscene behaviors,” she reads off a cue card.

“Are those your words or…”

“No, they’re Seteth’s notes.”

“Right, thought so.”

“Did you have to fill the bus with freshmen, though?”

“Hey, they were the most enthusiastic about going.”

Byleth shakes her head. “You know what you did wrong.”

“Yeah. Next time I’ll make sure everyone’s over the legal drinking age.”

Byleth stares, as if to say, “Go on…”

“…aaaand I’ll make it a… wyvern party bus?”

Byleth nods.

“That’s so lame, Professor! Who’s ever heard of a wyvern party bus? You know who rides wyverns these days? Carnies. And, like, Renfaire people. The same types who unironically enjoy dressing up in historical costumes and riding around horse-drawn carriages every day. I can’t even imagine what it would look like to put strobe lights on a wyvern! This is my reputation here!”

“It’s not negotiable,” she says, and then tosses him a reindeer costume.

“What’s this?”

“Your punishment.”

Confused, he asks, “I thought the wyvern bus was my punishment?”

“Of course not. That was a promise you made to prevent future incidences. Your punishment for this past incident is to accompany me while I do my duty as Saint Cichol.”

“You’re kidding. Professor, please tell me this is one of those weird jokes you make where you forget to laugh until someone points it out. I’m pointing it out right now.”

Byleth doesn’t laugh. She digs under her desk and brings out a bright red Saint Cichol suit. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can put strobe lights on the sleigh.”


	6. Oh no! My hand is melting. I'm a snowman!

**6\. Oh no! My hand is melting. I’m a snowman!**

It’s a good morning for Felix. He wakes up smashed up against Sylvain’s chest in a bed that’s too small for the both of them, but that’s all right. Sylvain dangles a sprig of mistletoe over them, but that’s fine too. Felix only playfully shoves him off and snuggles into the warm spot when he leaves. The glow of a new relationship that was years in the making is mellowing him out a lot.

Sylvain is long gone by the time Felix crawls out of bed. As he goes about his usual morning routine, he thinks about heading to the gym to get in some extra fencing practice to start off the day. That sounds really good, and Felix even finds himself smiling as he walks outside into the snowy landscape.

His good mood lasts until he comes across Dimitri’s body face down in the snow.

And so it begins yet again.

Felix isn’t really into Saint Cichol’s Day because Felix isn’t really into any holidays at all. He’s very “meh” about it. The lights and presents are nice and all, but finals are also coming up and Dimitri goes insane right around this time of year. It’s like clockwork, like the tides, like the rising of the sun. The coursework amps up, his insomnia amps up, and suddenly Dimitri is no longer his princely self, but has become some greasy hulking brute who can only communicate in grunts and lives off a diet consisting solely of energy drinks.

The Blue Lions are, even accounting for Sylvain’s occasional terrible ideas, generally much more responsible than the other dorms. Dimitri’s help is rarely needed even though he – in his normal (sane) state – likes to hover over them trying to be useful all the time. Stupid overachiever. But the one time of year they actually need his charisma and natural leadership ability to rally them into glorious snow battle is also the time when he’s mentally drained to the point of only being capable of mad berserker charges. Or flopping into the snow like a corpse.

In their first year, Dimitri walked straight into the enemy camp, alone, and took more than twenty snowballs directly to the face before keeling over due to exhaustion. When he woke up, he had the gall to say he dreamed they were playing capture the flag. He had sleep-walked into battle. A legend was born that day, and it was a subject of gossip for months after, especially since he accidentally got socked with an ice chunk to the eye and had to wear a patch for a while.

Felix reserves the right to hate the Black Eagles for that act of complete overkill, but he also understands how scary it must have been for them to see Dimitri charging at them without reacting to anything they threw at him.

The faculty still approved Dimitri for RA despite that. They must be insane too.

Well, at least this time Dimitri’s body hadn’t fallen unsupervised. Annette is sitting on the bench nearby. She waves Felix over cheerfully.

“We were just coming back from breakfast when he collapsed like a minute ago. I think he camped in the library all night? I was texting to Mercie that I think we should make a support group for student stress management during exams. You know, like obviously for Dimitri, but also Claude’s been driving Lysi crazy since he apparently channels his stress through really dubious chemistry experiments in the kitchen sink. We could force them to go de-stress.”

“If Dimitri and Claude are your first recruits, no one else is going to want to join. They’re both going to kill themselves and take us all out with them. Your plan sucks,” Felix says.

“Does not! And anyway, I don’t see you coming up with any plans to help our resident overachievers.”

Felix shoots a pointed look at Annette, who still has a textbook opened even as she’s babysitting Dimitri’s corpse. “Says the number three overachiever. Pot, kettle?”

“Yeah, number three! I’m not _that_ bad anymore.”

“Yes you are. You’re just smarter than the boar, so studying doesn’t deal physical damage to you the way it does to him.”

“Well… well, I’m better than Claude, that’s for sure!”

They both shudder at the thought of Claude at his worst, the absolute madman who is acing all his coursework for a double major and a minor and can still smile and pretend to be easy-going. No one knows how much of that is real and how much is the mask of a serial killer soon to snap. (There are bets going around about that.) No one knows what sort of monster Claude even _is_ , except that he can’t be fully human, can he? (There are bets going around about that too.)

“He’s not our problem,” Felix says, and he’s glad of it. He’ll take Dimitri’s dumb-insane over Claude’s genius-insane any day. Dimitri, at least, can be outsmarted when lucid and wrangled like a beast when not. That’s not so for Claude.

Felix sighs. Dedue isn’t around, so no one is strong enough to lift Dimitri. He’s about to roll the other man inside when he hears the unholy combination of sleigh bells and rave music.

“Oh wow, is that… Professor Byleth?” Annette asks. “And Sylvain?”

It’s them all right. Felix’s good mood is a hundred percent gone now, replaced by his usual frown. “Ugh. Sylvain, why?”

Professor Byleth is dressed as Saint Cichol. “Ho ho ho,” she says impassively as they amble up to the Blue Lions dorm. She tosses little stocking-shaped care packages stuffed with snacks and hot cocoa at him and Annette. “Presents.”

Beside her, reindeer-Sylvain pulls the hideous rave-sleigh. He has sunglasses on, and glow stick accessories everywhere along with a blinking red nose. There are strobe lights duct taped to the sleigh, and speakers in the back blaring out techno carols, a genre of music that rightfully should not exist.

Sylvain looks horribly smug while Felix questions his life choices. For instance, if he had acquiesced to making out with Sylvain this morning, could he have distracted his boyfriend enough to prevent this apocalyptic fate from befalling them all?

Drawn out by the sounds and the light show, other Blue Lions students begin pouring outside. They gingerly step over and around their fallen leader to accept Saint Cichol’s gifts.

It is then that tragedy strikes.

Black hooded figures jump out from behind the bushes and around the sides of the building with baskets of snowballs at the ready. Screams erupt as they pelt the unsuspecting Blue Lions from all sides.

Felix dodges the brunt of the first wave and packs a snowball to retaliate as quick as he can, but damn! It’s not enough! There’s nothing he alone can do to counter such a well planned ambush. They chose a time when Dimitri was down and Sylvain, their chief strategist, was off guard. For the first time in snow war history, a professor has been drawn into the conflict as well. How ruthless are their enemies!

Gritting his teeth, he hurls fistfuls of snow, not caring that none of it is packed well. He jumps in front of Annette to block some coming her way, but then _slam!_ His vision goes white, a direct hit to the side of his face. Cold blooms across his skin as he shakes the snow from his eyes.

When his sight clears, he sees that all around him, the Blue Lions are falling, squealing like pigs rounded up for the slaughter. Sylvain falls to a concentrated barrage. He lies there, glowing neon even in defeat. Annette and the Professor are barely holding on by sniping from behind the sleigh.

All is lost.

Until… there is movement from an unexpected source on the ground.

Dimitri stands up like a snow zombie.

“My hand is already melting! It’s too late for me, but you can still live!” he roars nonsensically and charges the figures in black.

Heedless of any impacts, he steals the baskets of snowballs and dunks them firmly over the heads of the enemy attackers. A few bouts of this and they quickly run out of ammo and are forced to call a retreat.

Snow Zombie Dimitri shambles back toward the sad remains of his army. His eyes grow more and more lucid with each second, until he reaches Felix and goes full-on confused puppy at him.

“What the _fuck_ was that,” Felix spits out.

“I don’t know?”

“You just– were you sleep walking again and dreaming some weird shit or something?”

“Oh. Yes. I… dreamed I was a snowman. And I was already melting, but I thought I could save the other snow people if I packed more snow on them. Um, what… happened here? I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?”

Sylvain crawls over and gives him a thumbs up. “You saved the day, man.”

Felix looks from his confused zombie puppy best friend to his soggy glowing reindeer boyfriend. He flips them both off. “Fuck you both. Call a strategy meeting. Now.”


	7. A weird and strange-shaped present was hidden in your garage.

**7\. A weird and strange-shaped present was hidden in your ~~garage~~ gym locker.**

Fencing is the most noble of sports, except for perhaps the classic equestrian sports, but it’s difficult to expect a university to allow students to bring horses these days, let alone have the proper facilities to care for championship animals. So fencing it is for Ferdinand.

Their grumpy team captain is not here today, which is slightly odd since it’s common knowledge that Felix lives in the gym along with the “muscle bros” Caspar and Raphael. It’s not odd enough for comment as there wasn’t a mandatory practice session scheduled or anything. Ferdinand and Lorenz merely shrug and have a nice bout against each other.

Lorenz departs quickly after, citing ladies to woo, while Ferdinand leisurely cools down. So he’s alone in the locker room when he comes across the curious package shoved into his locker. _His_ locker, which he had only left unlocked for the duration of this morning’s practice, trusting perhaps naively that no one would do something like shove a lumpy, wrinkled, oblong _thing_ into it when it was clearly in use.

He inspects the poorly wrapped package. It’s tied with a crooked ribbon, under which a hastily scribbled note is tucked. It says:

> _Ferdinand von Hell Yeah,_
> 
> _Yo it’s ya boi Sylvain. I have a mission for you. You are hereby invited to join the Secret Keyhole gift exchange in my stead, and I’ve even brought the gift for you already. DO NOT OPEN IT. (It’s for Hilda.) All will be clear once you get to the party. Dorothea vouches for you, so don’t let us down. Go to the Golden Deer basement at 9pm and have a good time~ XOXO_

He doesn’t know how to feel about Sylvain reaching out to him in such an unorthodox way. They have mutual friends, but he can’t say their lives intersect much. He can’t even remember the last time he hung out with Sylvain. It’s never been one on one, that’s for sure. No, most of their interactions probably come through Sylvain cheering on Felix at their fencing matches.

Ferdinand considers just not going, but then someone would be short a gift at their exchange. Also, he’s been thinking on the issue of his imminent defection and how he must sneakily take his knowledge of Edelgard’s nefarious plot to one of the other dorm leaders, and judging from Dimitri’s past behavior during exam times, he’s about to be incapacitated. The only other choice is Claude, who is likely to be involved in any party thrown in his territory. If there’s anything anyone knows about Claude, it’s that he’s very shrewd. It’s hard to imagine any Golden Deer business going on without his knowledge.

Were Dimitri guaranteed to be his normal self, he would be a much more noble and reliable ally of justice. Claude is a chaos monger, and Ferdinand doesn’t know him well enough to say whether he would use the information to fight back against Shambhala or not, but he’ll have to test the waters. He’ll have to go to the party to know more.

During lunch time in the dining hall, Ferdinand overhears that the first snow battle of the year erupted outside the Blue Lions dorm that morning. There are whispers of mysterious aggressors in black hoodies, and he feels guilt sink into his stomach. In the days that he spent waffling about his decision, he could have instead been working to prevent such a massacre.

The Black Eagles are suspected to be the culprits, given the two dorms’ known rivalry. But then news trickles in that smaller groups of Golden Deer and Black Eagles have been ambushed as well, and that theory quickly falls apart. Edelgard wouldn’t sacrifice her own people, would she?

Ferdinand wants to scream that she’s gone off the deep end and absolutely would. It was Petra and Dorothea who were “attacked”, and it’s true they are Edelgard’s most precious friends, but that just means they would happily sacrifice themselves to shift blame and attention away from their boss. This is confirmed when Petra, sitting across from him at the dining hall table, looks up from her sandwich and winks awkwardly in an attempt at being conspiratorial.

“I am being complicit,” she says.

“Oh, wow, that’s great. Excuse me, I’m going to get more tea.”

“Are you not wanting to eat the rest of that? Ferdinand, you must be keeping up your strength in the time of exams. Sandwiches are good for strength, I have learned.”

He laughs nervously. “Haha… I had a large breakfast, help yourself.”

“Thank you. These extra provisions shall be nourishing me.”

That night, as he heads for the Golden Deer, he meets up with Dorothea along the way. She’s dressed to kill in a slinky black sequined cocktail dress, fur coat, and dramatic smoky makeup.

“Is it that sort of party?” He looks down at himself in rumpled casual wear.

“Every party is that sort of party for a diva, Ferdie darling. Don’t worry, you’re fine.”

“That’s not reassuring at all.”

She laughs. “You’ve never been to a Golden Deer event, have you? They don’t consider any gathering a success unless at least three genres have been crossed.”

They slip into the basement without raising any eyebrows. The door to the stairs has a warning sign taped to it written in someone’s bubbly girly script. It says, “Keep the fuck out. Claude’s in here doing Claude things.” The ‘i’s are dotted with hearts.

True enough, Claude is there. And Dorothea is right – no one matches.

Claude is sitting on the couch dressed in a black suit, and it’s unclear if he’s ready for a funeral or a hit job. Hilda is a bunny girl. She sits on the floor with her head in his lap. Mercedes is wearing her comfiest pair of pajamas, and she’s the one who greets them at the door.

Before any of Ferdinand’s questions can be answered, Claude begins a somber speech. There is a muted sorrow in his expression as he says, “Friends, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of our dear companion Sylvain Jose Gautier, and to share our grief at his passing. When I think of Sylvain, I remember how he could brighten a room with his presence. I remember how we all banded together to make fun of his pick-up lines. He never shied away from the nastiest topics; no perversion could make him flinch. He truly was the thirstiest of us.

“Sylvain is in a better place now. I hear he’s getting daily nookie.” At this, Hilda and Dorothea boo, but Claude holds up his hands to silence them. “Yes, it’s true that he received a ticket – nay, a season pass to pound town, but he would want us to continue thirsting as we have been. To Sylvain!”

Claude reaches behind the couch to produce a bottle of champagne, which he summarily uncorks. Pop! Hilda jumps up and pulls the cord on a rolled up banner. It unfurls, reading “Thirsty Bitches Club” in the same heart-filled writing that was on the door. It’s probably Hilda’s.

Everything is so surreal. Ferdinand almost whimpers. He doesn’t, but it’s a hard fought battle. “What in the goddess’ name is going on here?”

Dorothea takes pity on him and attempts to explain while the others begin taking swigs of champagne straight out of the bottle. “Well, Sylvain left to be all happy and committed now that he’s with Felix. Which is understandable since Felix said he would cut off Sylvain’s balls if he kept attending our thirst parties. So you’re Sylvain’s replacement. We needed another redhead, and you kinda look like him except with a receding hairline.”

Ferdinand gasps. “Excuse you, I do _not_! My hair is perfectly fine!”

Dorothea bats her eyelashes. She says sweetly, “You’re one of us now, Ferdie.”

Hilda and Claude begin chanting, “One of us! One of us!”

Mercedes says, “Oh, my cookies!” and rushes off. A moment later she comes back from the kitchen bearing a plate of freshly baked penis cookies. “Don’t worry, Dorothea, I didn’t forget you! The vagina cookies will just be a few minutes.”

Ferdinand now understands why it’s called the Secret Keyhole gift exchange. He now has a guess for what the _oblong thing_ is that’s burning a hole in his bag. This time he really does whimper.


	8. Hear the jingle, hear the jaggle, Christmas trees dance tonight.

**8\. Hear the jingle, hear the jaggle, ~~Christmas~~ Saint Cichol’s Day trees dance tonight.**

In the Golden Deer basement, five students are sitting in a circle, getting steadily drunk off cheap champagne. For snacks, there’s popcorn, chips, and cookies shaped like genitalia. They all have presents in their laps.

Hilda raises her hand. “I’ll go first!”

She carefully unwraps the lumpy thing that Ferdinand had brought to the party, courtesy of Sylvain. The ribbon comes off, then the layer of gift wrap. Inside is a big wad of crumpled newspaper. Hilda shakes her head at Sylvain’s lack of giftwrapping _vision_. As a design major, it offends her sensibilities.

But inside the newspaper is a very sparkly, cotton candy pink vibrator. “Aww, how sweet! It matches me!”

They go around opening their presents. Hilda’s gift to Mercedes is a set of fur-lined handcuffs and chocolate body paint. Mercedes giggles and says, “How lovely. I’ll put them to good use.”

She in turn has gifted Dorothea some lacy, crotchless lingerie. “The perfect balance of classy and hoe. Thanks, Mercie.”

When it’s Claude’s turn to open his gift from Dorothea, he pauses and raises a single brow at her. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Dorothea’s poker face gives nothing away. She steadily meets his gaze and slowly, viciously castrates a dick cookie with her teeth. (This is in stark contrast to the way she had been delicately nibbling on their female counterparts.) Claude holds his stare until the crunching falls silent.

He unwraps the gift.

It’s a corn dick. That is, a yellow dildo shaped like corn on the cob.

“I’m going to use this,” Claude says to her, “and I’m going to scream your name when I come.”

“Don’t be gross, Claude. You know I’m not into you.”

“That’s why I have to do it. You gave me corn dick, Thea. That’s the only way of showing the proper appreciation for corn dick. Know that you brought this upon yourself.”

“Indeed. The deer are truly to be feared.”

They toast with bottles of champagne because apparently no one thought to bring cups. Then the attention shifts to their newest addition, Ferdinand.

Ferdinand doesn’t consider himself a prude, but he wasn’t raised to be so open about sex. His family is very traditional, often conservative. And it’s true that, upon leaving that bubble, he found a lot of his old views were wrong, but he can’t help thinking that not all of it was. There’s still value in modesty. He really doesn’t think he’s ready to unwrap a sex toy in front of others.

The others must sense this, but rather than teasing him, they leave him be. He gets reassuring smiles from the girls. Claude throws him a wink. They put on terrible romcoms and snuggle and throw popcorn at each other and gossip about hot people on campus.

“Y’know who’s hot?” Hilda asks when she’s halfway sloshed, “De _dude_. He’s so big and strong, like a big, strong, giant tree man. I want him to pluck me like the delicate flower I am.”

Claude nods along. “10/10, would climb.”

“Y’know who else is tall enough to be climbable?”

“Lorenz?”

“Love him, but eww no.”

“Raphael?” Dorothea hazards a guess.

“Uh, he’s like my _brother_? No.”

“Jeritza?” Claude guesses again.

Mercedes chimes in then, “Oh, that’s _my_ brother!”

Hilda smacks Claude. “You think I’m depraved enough to thirst over Mercie’s brother in front of her? For shame!”

“Oh, oh, I’ve got this!” Claude shoots double pistols at her. “Dimi _tree_.”

“Nooooo, nooooo! You’re not allowed to pull an Alois when we’re talkin’ ‘bout dicks!”

“Did I guess correctly?”

“Yes, but also noooooo!” Hilda rolls on the ground in pain.

Claude nods along to this as well, ignoring Hilda’s pain. “10/10 would also climb. He’s oblivious, though. Guess we’ll just have to… pine. From a _fir_.”

“Auuughhurrkk I’m dying!” says Hilda from the ground. “And not in the good way!”

“Oh no, is this my fault? Did the corn dick make him corny?” Dorothea lunges to shake him. “Snap out of it!”

Mercedes looks on as serenely as ever. She and Ferdinand share a laugh at the more energetic members of the party, and it’s then that he finally relaxes enough to speak up about something that’s been bothering him since he got here.

“Claude, you’re best known for having other people thirst after you. How is it that you’re so thirsty yourself?”

The air is suddenly solemn. Hilda even ceases her rolling. Dorothea pulls back from their slap match and puts a hand on Claude’s shoulder instead. She says, solemnly, “He’s one of us now. You can trust him with your terrible secret.”

Claude’s secret (or one of them, at least) is thus:

Half the student body thinks Claude has slept with the other half, and vice versa. That’s because Claude expends way too much energy making people think he’s fucking everyone else, just like he keeps making people think he’s going to poison someone. (Only Hubert is bad enough to poison his friends for real, he says. “You have weird tastes, Ferdinand my man.” Everyone nods. Ferdinand can’t bring himself to disagree, either.) It’s all mind games for Claude. In actuality, he hasn’t done anything with anyone at school because apparently he has high standards and is the type to sigh over romantic poetry in his spare time like a giant nerd, which is exactly what he is.

When all the champagne and cookies are finished, and Claude is drunkenly belting out, “I have found what you are like, the rain, that will finally wash away my crippling fear of intimacy!” Ferdinand finds that he’s become better friends with these strange yet wonderful people, and he’s glad he was invited to this party after all.

Even later in the night, in his pitch-black room, he stares at the extremely complicated vibrator he was gifted, fixated on the thought of how it would compare with Hubert’s dick. It lights up, flashing red and green like a terrible holiday tree as it pistons up and down and the pearls inside whirl round and round.

Ferdinand had already slipped a note to Claude with sensitive intel. Would Hubert ever consider dicking someone who betrayed his precious Lady Edelgard?


	9. A kid with a white beard, what’s happening to me?

**9\. A kid with a white beard, what’s happening to me?**

One morning, before Lysithea is properly awake, she heads down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Five spoons of sugar go into the mug first, followed by a long pour of creamer, but only to the half way point. Any more and her conscience won’t allow her to call it coffee. By then, the actual hot bean juice portion of the beverage has just about finished brewing.

Eyes half closed, body on autopilot, she pours, stirs, and gulps down her sugary concoction and then goes to rinse out her mug in the sink. It’s not uncommon for a few plates or utensils to be left in the sink, so that’s what Lysithea’s groggy mind thinks is in there when she haphazardly squirts some dish soap mostly in the direction of of the dirty mug and goes to turn on the water.

That’s when Lysithea fully opens her eyes – _pfooom!_ – to a face full of erupting foam.

That glass? Two beakers that she had knocked over.

“Cl _aude_!”

Her shrill scream reaches out across the hall to the study room where Claude had drifted off to sleep, cheek smashed into his opened chemistry book. He jolts awake and rushes to the kitchen where he vaguely remembers he had been doing some very late night/very early morning experimentation.

The kitchen is covered in foam. It exploded out from the sink and hit the ceiling, spraying everywhere. Lysithea is covered in it. It clings to her hair and clothes, some chunks even connecting her chin to the hair flowing over her shoulders, creating a white beard like Saint Cichol’s.

Claude laughs, great big heaving guffaws that make Lysithea seethe. How _irresponsible!_

“This is no laughing matter, Claude! How dare you leave your dangerous chemicals lying around!”

“Aww, come on, it’s just drugstore hydrogen peroxide. You use that to disinfect your little boo-boos, it’s hardly dangerous.” He nonchalantly crosses his arms behind his head. And that _smirk_.

How dare he treat her like a child, too! Lysithea tears off her fluffy beard and chucks it at him, only growing more incensed when it falls an unsatisfying few inches from her feet. Claude laughs that off as well. Just you wait, she thinks. He’ll get his comeuppance soon.

Stress affects everyone in different ways, some very strange. ‘Tis the season for Yeti-Dimitri (aka Yetimitri, aka The Abominable Snow Lion) sightings, after all. Word through the grapevine is that there’s an app in development by the computer science students to track the movements of GMU’s beloved seasonal cryptid.

Equally strange, and more frustrating to her at least, is Claude’s behavior. Annette texts her to complain about Dimitri, and Lysithea complains about Claude. They agree that something must be done. It’s a matter of Dimitri’s mental health and Claude’s punishment.

They rope in Professor Manuela who, while she teaches theater, is also a licensed behavioral therapist. Of course they don’t tell the professor their true intentions; they just act cute and concerned for the well-being of their fellow students, which is absolutely the truth. Annette _is_ concerned for Dimitri, as are all the Blue Lions and many others as well. And Lysithea is concerned for the people _around_ Claude. He’s like the stupidest big brother in the world, and everyone needs protection from him.

Professor Manuela debuts her De-stress Express workshops with Claude and Dimitri as mandatory participants. (She wanted to rope in Edelgard too, but in true Hresvelg fashion Edelgard breezed into the professor’s office, said in her most authoritative tone, “I’m sane, but that might not remain true for very long if I am forced to endure the company of those two,” and breezed back out.)

Manuela wonders why no one else wants to join. The two boys are friendly and well-behaved. They have such lovely, relaxing times patting the stray cats and dogs that gather around campus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hydrogen peroxide + dish soap + yeast or potassium iodide + warm water = foam geyser
> 
> Claude’s majors are chemistry and international relations. People are always confused when they hear about this combo. Like, what’s he gonna do with that? His minor is in literature. It adds even more confusion, to which he gives his best Mona Lisa smile.
> 
> Re: Dimitri tracking app, the irony is that Dimitri is one of those computer science students. His classmates are doing this behind his back.


	10. Anger and frustration at Santa’s workshop, as elves start quitting their jobs.

**10\. Anger and frustration at ~~Santa~~ Saint Cichol’s workshop, as elves start quitting their jobs.**

“Absolutely not, Byleth! I’m not letting you back out there to be assaulted by those-- those hooligans!”

“I need to finish my deliveries.”

“Alois can do them.”

“I took on this job. I’m finishing it.”

“What if you did it later, after we’ve apprehended the culprits?”

“The holidays could be over by then, and there wouldn’t be a point.”

“They’re still out there, waiting to-- to--”

“To throw snowballs at me? I can give as good as I get.”

“But we don’t even know who they are at this point!”

Byleth shrugs. “Students? Probably from Shambhala Tech. They do a lot of online project submissions, so the kids don’t have to be on campus during finals.”

Seteth hisses something that sounds like, “Those dastardly Agarthans!” which Byleth only somewhat understands due to having been forced to take too many high school courses in Classics. It turns out they were useful after all, but not in the ways her teachers said.

“Shambhala hasn’t been Agarthan for centuries. The school is built on top of catacombs or something, but GMU is also built on top of a mausoleum, so…”

Seteth deflates. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I want you to be well. And Flayn is coming home from boarding school. I don’t wish for her to be caught up in this at all.”

He’s disheveled in his worry, beard somewhat overgrown and hair, for once, not perfectly in place. The tips of his pointed ears stick out. It’s cute.

Byleth reaches up to pat him on his blushing cheeks. “Don't be racist while I’m gone. And don’t dragon-yeet!”

“What? What is a yeet?”

“…Never mind.”


	11. You receive a knitted jumper for Christmas, but this is no ordinary jumper.

**11\. You receive a knitted jumper for** ~~**Christmas** ~~ **Saint Cichol’s Day** **, but this is no ordinary jumper.**

Hubert likes to think he knows everyone on campus. Oh, not as friends, but he knows who is a gossip and who can keep a secret, who will break and who will endure. He knows their struggles and their fears.

Certainly, there are students like Claude who try to make everything about themselves a mystery, and Hubert has enough skill in reading others to know that Claude would see through him if he wanted to get close enough to see through Claude.

But Claude is boring. His secrets are boring. Whatever they are will turn out to be harmless because, as a man who is _actually_ capable of being dangerous, he knows Claude is not. They have a mutual respect and an unspoken agreement to leave each other be. Being lab partners for a year was enough already. There’s no need to get any closer.

It’s the ones who don’t know they’re hiding anything that are the most fun of all. The ones like Ferdinand. He’s so honest about everything, but not very self-aware, so he’s often surprised by revelations about himself. They’ve been acquainted since they were babies, and yet Ferdinand is still an intriguing specimen worthy of study.

Hubert has mental file cabinets full of Ferdinand’s amusing reactions to his social experiments. An especially amusing long-term experiment started in their first year of high school, when Ferdinand realized he was attracted to boys. Plenty of people knew before he did, just based on the way his eyes lingered on men more than women when discussing celebrities or whatnot.

The experiment began by slipping various images of handsome men in front of Ferdinand to see what caught his attention. He seemed to have a preference for the dark and brooding type, which was convenient because then Hubert could use himself to rile him up.

Teasing Ferdinand became a longitudinal study, and it has brought his blackened heart much joy over the years.

Any yet… there’s now _this_.

Hubert holds in his hands a decently knitted sweater. It’s not his usual black, but a dark crimson that he would still wear. The yarn is warm and plush. Inviting. Comfortable. Professor Byleth had chucked the package at him along with the regular care package she was distributing to everyone. He narrows his eyes at this bit of Saint Cichol’s cheer that is obviously mocking him.

Edelgard looks over and sees the sweater. She squints, spotting the slight imperfections of a less seasoned knitter. “That’s not Bernie’s work.”

“It’s _Ferdinand’s_.” He spits the name out like it burns.

“Huh. I thought he’d been hanging out in Bernie’s room a lot this year. Why are you scowling, then?”

“I don’t understand the purpose of gifting me such a thing.”

“Because… you like sweaters. And he likes you.”

Hubert doesn’t dignify that with a response. He loves Edelgard very much, but sometimes even she says stupid things.

She looks at him like she’s thinking the exact same thing in reverse. “Come now, Hubert. You can’t tease him for years and be surprised at reciprocation.”

“There’s no reciprocation because I haven’t given him anything.”

“Right, right. No smoldering looks, no playing up your closeness to me to incite his jealousy, none of that. You never purposely gave him a show in the high school locker room.”

“That means nothing. He should hate me for bringing his weaknesses into the light and mocking them.”

“You never ‘accidentally’ left your notes on his desk when you saw him struggling in certain classes?”

“Those notes were typed. They can’t be traced back to me.”

“Does it matter? You’ve still done nice things for him. Regardless of how dense he is, I’m sure eventually he picked up the pattern.”

“There’s no pattern to pick up.”

Edelgard finally rolls her eyes at him. “You’re not very honest with yourself, are you?”

Hubert takes his frustration out on the Shambhala students camping out in the Black Eagles basement. He poisons exactly one (1) cookie on the plate meant for them, and leaves it down there with a note explaining what he’s done. _Play roulette if you dare_ , he writes.

He knows the bunch of edgelords will do it for the edge cred. That, at least, brings a smile to his face.


	12. Christmas Day lights show Santa the way and keep the Grinch away.

**12. ~~Christmas~~ Saint Cichol’s Day lights show ~~Santa~~ Saint Cichol the way and keep the Grinch away.**

It starts with a simple compliment to Bernadetta at the beginning of the school year. While delivering an assignment she missed due to a social anxiety flare up, Ferdinand merely mentions that he likes the new stuffed animals she has knitted and crocheted. Bernie, teary-eyed, says she doesn’t believe him, and that he’s horrible for giving false compliments when he actually must think her babies look like trash.

To prove his sincerity, he breaks out all the knitting lingo learned from lessons on his grandma’s knees so many years ago. The next thing he knows, they’re having weekly stitch and bitch sessions.

Ferdinand loves the stage – being the center of attention, the drama and the lights. But there are times he finds himself drawn to people who are the opposite – people who are reserved, who prefer to stay out of the spotlight. Bernie has a cult following online, despite never having shown her face on any platform. She has a shop for her handmade goods, and makes crafting tutorial videos that get millions of views.

All of this frightens her a little bit, but she knows she can’t hide forever. She says to Ferdinand one day, “Maybe if I hang around with you, I can absorb some of your confidence. Like osmosis.”

And if that’s the type of person Bernie thinks he is, well, he can’t let her down, can he? He has to go through with actually gifting the sweater that had taken him months to knit.

If it were for anyone else, Ferdinand wouldn’t hesitate to hand over the gift in person. But this is Hubert. He can be kind – a side usually reserved for Edelgard – but is generally grumpy and difficult to approach. The only times Hubert has accepted anything from Ferdinand have been coffee, and only under the guise of doing a drink run for everyone. The sweater will have to be a secret, anonymous thing.

That’s why he slips it into Professor Byleth’s mailbox. It’s tradition to use Saint Cichol’s delivery service to send gifts from secret admirers, and if anyone’s capable of hunting down Hubert, it’ll be Professor Byleth.

Meanwhile, as Ferdie and Bernie stitch and bitch about whether or not Hubert will figure out who sent him the sweater, Byleth is hitching up the sleigh again.

She’s met outside by _three_ reindeer. Three sunglasses-wearing, armed reindeer guards. Sylvain is there, of course, glowing brightly as always. The only difference is that he’s now carrying a large and brightly colored water gun. Reindeer #2 is Raphael, whose muscles bulge out of his costume. He flexes, half-unzipped. “Huurrragh! Ready for battle, Professor!”

“Raaaah!” says Reindeer #3, “Leave it to us, By! We’ll take ‘em all down!”

Reindeer #3 is tiny in comparison, especially as she poses back to back with Raphael, both holding their super soakers Rambo-ready. It’s Flayn. It’s Flayn, and Seteth is going to be so mad about this. But also, it’s Flayn… who is technically a thousand years old. She’s a legal adult now and will begin attending GMU next year.

Byleth shrugs. “Okay.”

The four of them roll out like some sort of bad mobster flick. They head toward the Black Eagles this time. The lights and sounds of the sleigh draws forth students as usual, and Saint Cichol and her reindeer pass out care packages as usual.

There are a few special packages left in her care, and when it comes to these, usually the friend who left the gift will drag the recipient out to see her. This time, however, there is a _special_ special package in that someone has left a gift to be sent to Hubert von Vestra, whose reputation precedes him.

When he’s not skulking behind Edelgard, Hubert can be found skulking around darkened corners. The brightness of the sleigh will definitely be off-putting to him, so Byleth keeps her eyes open for any shadowy figures at the peripheral. She finally spots him coming back toward the dorm with Edelgard and the other members of her usual entourage, but while Edelgard keeps her pace, Hubert recoils upon seeing the neon monstrosity and peels off from the group.

Byleth sprints forth and cuts him off at the back entrance. “Ho ho ho. Take the snacks.”

If Hubert is surprised, he hides it well. He sniffs in disdain and says, “I must decline.”

Neither person backs down from the staring contest. Byleth brings up both packages and shoves them at his chest, holding them there for a minute or so, until Hubert finally gives in and brings his arms up to hold them, if only to end this awkward confrontation.

“Thank you,” he says, teeth gritted and brows drawn down in a look of pain.

She nods once, satisfied. “You’re welcome.”

When Byleth makes her way back to the front of the building, it’s with a little extra pep in her step at a job well done. The Black Eagles students are just about all heading back inside or splitting off to go elsewhere on campus. Edelgard’s group had stopped to chat with the reindeer, but are now walking through the front door.

Flayn is cheerfully waving to the last of them. “Bye, Monica! See you soon!”

Wait. Monica? Byleth turns to regard the young lady waving back to Flayn, and it is indeed Monica von Ochs. A year or so ago, this wouldn’t have been strange at all, but Monica transferred… to _Shambhala._

Perhaps it’s nothing. Perhaps she just decided to visit some old friends. Still, Byleth begins to feel there’s something off about her presence.


	13. The secret ingredient to Santa cookies is shaping them like Santa or else...

**13\. The secret ingredient to** ~~**Santa** ~~ **Saint Cichol** **cookies is shaping them like** ~~**Santa** ~~ **Saint Cichol** **or else…**

Flayn is happy to be back home with her father and Byleth and all the crazy students and staff of the university. Attending school away from the mountains is fun as well, and certainly she has been able to learn a lot more about the modern world than she would if kept isolated and under her father’s watchful eye, but no place has ever felt as much like home as Garreg Mach.

School let up just in time, too! There’s the White Heron Cup coming up, and then a Staff Mixer, and finally the Garreg Mach Foundation Day Ball! The whole place is awash with activity this time of year. Many students go home, but there are plenty of events to entertain those who decide to stay, and a lot of alumni come up for the ball. It’s very formal, lots of high society mingling and business deals to be done.

Flayn is… not the best at cooking or baking, but she’s improved a lot. Even so, there’s no way her amateur help would be appreciated for an event as fancy as the ball. She decides to help make something for the White Heron Cup instead. It’s something that used to be formal, but has become more of a casual showcase for the arts nowadays. There will be art and music exhibitions, and of course the traditional dance competition. An event as lively as this requires refreshments!

Cookies are a must for Saint Cichol’s Day, and the best baker on campus is, without a doubt, Mercedes. They work together on the first batch of cookies, which turn out absolutely fabulous. Mercedes leaves her sugar cookie recipe with Flayn and says, “You’ve got this! I believe in you!”

So _of course_ Flayn messes it all up! Urgh!

The cookies she makes on her own _look_ fine, but when she tries one, she realizes she swapped the salt and sugar. The event is starting in an hour and there’s no time to go hunting for more ingredients, is there? Maybe if it were a more experienced baker, but Flayn has to spend so much time measuring everything out so that she doesn’t make something like the terrible unpalatable masses of spice that she used to create in the past.

She texts Mercedes in a panic, “omg what do i do??”

Mercie, the saint, tells Flayn there’s some leftover dough in the Golden Deer freezer. She says to let them thaw a bit and reshape the cutouts, but when Flayn looks up how to thaw cookies, the internet tells her it could take a couple hours! She doesn’t have that sort of time!

Luckily, Mercie’s cookies seem to be in decent shape. They haven’t gotten too squashed in the freezer or anything, or at least the faces haven’t. There are two batches, and when Flayn puts them together, they look fairly decent. It’s like a cartoon rendition of Saint Cichol’s face – two bulbous eyes and a long nose. The halos that go on top aren’t very round anymore, but uneven halos never hurt anyone!

It’s Mercie’s dough, so the taste should be fine, but just to be sure, Flayn waves Dimitri over while she’s setting up the refreshments table. Dimitri looks a lot better in comparison to previous years, though he still has dark circles under his eyes. He could use some sugar for energy.

“Hey, Dimitri, would you try this cookie? I mean, it tastes fine to me, but the dough’s been frozen for a while, so I just want to make sure it didn’t pick up any weird flavors from the freezer.”

“Certainly, Flayn!”

Dimitri strides over and picks up the cookie, making sure to admire it first. “This is an interesting shape,” he says. This is why Flayn likes using Dimitri as a taste-tester. He’s so nice even when her cooking sucks. He makes sure to say good things about everything he tries, even if the ultimate conclusion is that she needs more practice.

There’s a bit of a crowd gathering around him, too. Dimitri is so popular! Even when he’s just trying a cookie, the school’s “prince” draws attention. Flayn even spots Claude and Hilda, two very popular students in their own right, biting their lips and staring as Dimitri bites the tip off Saint Cichol’s nose.

“It’s delicious!”


	14. I woke up and instead of snow I saw candy canes everywhere.

**14.** **I woke up and instead of snow I saw candy canes everywhere.**

Dimitri wakes up and thinks, “This is not my bed.”

That’s not so strange around exams. He knows he has a bad habit of letting stress get to him. To be honest, Dimitri has never been good at sitting still for extended periods of time. He’s not very good at book learning, either. Sure, he enjoys it to some extent, but studying will never be a strength of his in the way it is for so many of his peers. But even so, he has responsibilities and a family reputation to uphold, and so he continues to push himself to improve. He _has_ to keep up with the geniuses, even if he’s coughing blood by the end of it.

He’s woken up in the library, in the dining hall, in the snow, in ditches, once even in the woods halfway down the mountain. No one knows how that happened, or at least that’s what they tell Dimitri. If they’re unwilling to give him the details, he’s not sure he wants to know anyway. The Other Dimitri (the Yeti Dimitri) seems like a pretty scary guy. Dimitri doesn’t want to have anything to do with his sleep-deprived alter ego, which is potentially something to discuss with his therapist…

Regardless, he takes stock of his surroundings. The first words out of his mouth aren’t “Why am I in bed with Claude?” or “Why are we in our underwear?” even though those are among the first of his more coherent thoughts. His first words are, “Why are there so many candy canes on your bed?”

And there are many, many candy canes on Claude’s bed. One could say there are more candy canes visible than bed. And underneath the bags of candy are books. Why? He’s tempted to ask where Claude sleeps, but obviously it’s in the little cleared out circle surrounded by all the things that do not belong on a bed. Or, in this case, on top of Dimitri who is occupying said circle. Dimitri, being larger than Claude, is also laying on top of some books and candy.

Claude mumbles something-something-kids-volunteer-science-experiment.

“Ah. Okay.” Dimitri struggles to think of other topics of conversation besides why they are almost naked in bed together on top of piles of candy and books. He can’t, so he just asks, “Why are we in bed together?”

Claude lifts himself up, blinking blearily. “Well, that certainly is the million dollar question. How much do you remember?”

The answer, it turns out, is quite a lot more than he expected.

* * *

The White Heron Cup has been a tradition at Garreg Mach for who knows how long. Every year they have a dance competition between representatives of the three dorms. It is on this evening, Claude says, that they will begin their counteroffensive. He thinks the mysterious hooded figures are Shambhala students working for Edelgard. He says he got this intel from a spy in the Black Eagles. That makes it two on two if they team up, so it’s only fair if they work together, right?

Dimitri idly nods along while petting the beagle that usually hangs out by the dining hall. Claude would look much more devious in his scheming if he didn’t have the fluffiest little kitten in his lap as he wiggles his fingers in a supposedly evil manner. There’s another kitten flopped over his shoulder, and yet another curled up in the space between their legs. A couple other dogs are chasing each other around the courtyard.

Claude is not convincingly evil. He never is, but the draped-in-kittens look is probably the most innocent he’s ever been. Dimitri’s brain is mush at the moment though, so there’s really nothing in there besides kittens, puppies, good.

“If I know Edelgard – well, let’s be honest here. If I know _Hubert_ , and I do, he’s a scorched earth kind of guy. Don’t drink the punch. Don’t let anyone you know drink the punch. He’ll have spiked it with laxatives.”

“Mmm,” Dimitri says. Part of him wonders when chemical warfare became an accepted part of their snowball fights. Then his thoughts wander and he wonders if it always was, as an extension of the battle between Edelgard and himself. How many times has Hubert tried to subtly poison him? Probably many. Definitely that one time before the track meet when he thought he’d eaten some bad sushi and then remembered that he hadn’t eaten any sushi. It’s a good thing his constitution is abnormally strong.

Claude glances around, spies Professor Manuela keeping an eye on them, making sure that for the next hour they do nothing more than Relax, Or Else. He flashes her a grin and makes a show of snuggling his shoulder-kitten while whispering to Dimitri, “Are you following? You seem way too calm for a dude who just found out his sister’s been secretly plotting his demise. Shouldn’t you be, I dunno, at least a little bit mad?”

“It’s hard to be mad when puppies.”

“…Good point.”

“You should give the scheming a rest, too. Turn off that giant brain of yours and just enjoy the moment.”

“Easier said than done.” Claude shrugs. “Well, you’ve got the gist of my plan. Just follow my lead.”

“If it turns out as you say,” he concedes.

“Oh, it will.”

And sure enough, it does.

The White Heron Cup begins as usual. Students hang up their art in the lobby of the performance hall. He recognizes a few paintings by Ignatz and some fashion designs by Hilda. There are some tables with refreshments being set up, and no one has yet touched the punch.

Flayn offers him a cookie. It’s delicious.

“Avoid the punch,” he says, mouth still full of delicious cookie, to the Blue Lions who have come with him. “Claude thinks Hubert had a hand in it.” It’s his usual crew, the strongest warriors he has, physically speaking – Ingrid, Sylvain, Felix, and Dedue. The Eagles will be watching, and they will think it the perfect time to take out Dimitri’s main force… according to Claude.

“Can’t believe we’re listening to Riegan,” Felix grumbles.

Sylvain tries to soothe him. “Let it go, babe. Ashe is happier on the archery team.”

“Tch. He poaches my teammates and the coward won’t even fight me.”

Ingrid frowns at him in the way she does preceding a scolding. “No one wants to fight you, Felix. Sword duels for honor died out after the middle ages along with codpieces and the plague.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are _fists_ out of fashion? I’ll punch anyone who--”

“NO ONE WANTS TO FIGHT YOU, FELIX.”

Dedue, as always, is the voice of reason. “We’ll know soon enough if he’s telling the truth,” he says, and they all leave it at that.

Ushers begin guiding the spectators inside to be seated. Dimitri and his friends file in to watch the dances. It used to be that the professors selected who the representatives would be, but now the students vote within their dorms. And instead of learning a set dance routine, they’re free to choreograph whatever they like. The competition isn’t even limited to single performers, either. This leads to some very… interesting group routines some years.

This year the Black Eagles are represented by Dorothea. She was the champion two years ago, but the previous year they decided to shake things up and voted for Linhardt. Linhardt walked onto the stage, said he was going to perform an avant garde interpretive dance, then laid down and fell asleep. So now they’re back to Dorothea, who starts with classical form. A few leaps and spins later, the beat drops and she begins to twerk it to the bass. At one point she even crawls seductively on the floor. It ends with a plié and a curtsey.

The Blue Lions voted for Annette, who performs the dance to a song she wrote, “Creepity Creep”. Everyone in the Blue Lions loves Annette’s singing and thinks she should be proud of it. It is a gift to be shared with the world. Plus, no one else can say they were singer, songwriter, and choreographer for their own dance. They applaud her with all their might.

And the Golden Deer… Well. Dimitri has no idea how Claude conducts his polls, but Raphael and Lorenz end up on stage together doing some sort of… salsa? Mambo? It’s _something_. Raphael is surprisingly graceful for such a large guy, and Lorenz has a rose between his teeth. At the climax of their routine, Raphael lifts Lorenz, who spreads his arms wide. In the spotlight they almost look like an angel’s wings. Rose petals rain down upon the stage.

“That was disgusting,” Felix says.

“I rather liked it,” Dimitri says.

“I meant Lorenz’s form. I keep telling him he needs to keep his back straight on the lunge.”

It’s Dedue, again, to the rescue. “He was dancing, not fencing.”

The judges this year are Professor Alois, who knows nothing about dancing but is taking the opportunity to applaud all the performers and shout encouragement at them, Professor Hanneman, who knows nothing about dancing except what he read in a book, and Coach Catherine, who knows nothing about dancing and doesn’t care. Dorothea wins.

It’s an upset for the Blue Lions, the previous holders of the Cup. (They sent out Felix who was actually fencing, not dancing, but still won against Linhardt’s sleeping and Leonie’s kickboxing.) Still, it wasn’t unexpected. This, too, is part of Claude’s plan. Dorothea will win, and the Black Eagles will use her to gather the victims around under the guise of heading to a victory party.

She does. Just. That.

The sun is setting when they exit the performance hall. Dorothea, flanked by the other Black Eagles, coyly invites them to come over for celebratory drinks. They pretend to be okay with this and proceed to cross through the snowy fields behind the gym where they will be ambushed by the Shambhala forces. The Golden Deer are nowhere in sight.

Dimitri groans and feigns trouble staying awake. He staggers. “S-sorry, I think I might have to sit this one out. I think I’m about to--”

The black hooded figures rush forth to capitalize on this perceived weakness. But lo and behold, from the other side, the Golden Deer charge in to even the match, screaming their mismatched battle cries.

“Fear the deer!”

“Goddess wills it!”

“For the fatherland!”

“Blood and iron!”

“Alalalalala!”

The Shambhalans and Black Eagles freeze, confused for just a moment.

“Traitor!” Edelgard yells. “There’s a traitor in our midst!”

“It was I, Ferdinand von Aegir!” screams Ferdinand von Aegir. He abruptly turns on his heel and launches the first snowball of the battle right to her chest. “For justice!”

Chaos erupts.

The enemies manage to recompose themselves and launch snowballs in a frenzy, hoping to down the Lions before the Deer can reach them. Dimitri keeps his hunched over stance. He doesn’t move to attack, but acts as a human wall for his smaller companions.

“Coming through!” Claude sprints in from the back and leaps onto Dimitri, scrambling up onto his shoulders. “Rise, my Yeti!”

“He’s doing it! He’s climbing the Dimitree!” Hilda sees Claude, bag full of snowballs on his back, rise into the air mounted on the snow beast. “Hey Dedue, gimme a boost!”

Dedue shrugs. He is soon being ridden into battle by a tiny pink girl.

The other Golden Deer have adopted this tactic as well. Raphael is bodyslamming the enemy while holding Leonie and Ignatz on one beefy shoulder each. Lysithea, frowning, is on top of Lorenz, also frowning. (Marianne is not part of the charge. She is being responsible, sitting far to the side with a first-aid kit. As they’ve learned from previous years, someone _will_ need it.)

Sylvain crouches down too. “Eh, Felix? Wanna go for a ride?”

Felix kicks him in the shin. “No.”

“Oof. Oh, that hurts.”

Ingrid hops on him instead. “Giddy up, horsie.” She whacks him once more for good measure.

“Why? What did I do to deserve this?”

“What was that, horsie?”

“Ow, okay, I’m going!”

And thus the Deer and Lions ride into battle. With the element of surprise combined with the height and weirdness advantages, their opponents are quickly put on the defense, then on the run as they retreat into the Black Eagles dorm.

Everyone is soaking wet and laughing. Dimitri offers up his room to Ferdinand.

* * *

…And that’s about as far as he can remember clearly. Claude must have offered to share a bed with him, and they must have fallen asleep right after stripping off their wet clothes.

“Did you really climb me like a Dimitree?”

“I did.”

Dimitri smiles. “That’s a good pun.”

Claude smiles too. “Yeah, I thought you might like that. You’re the only one who laughs at Alois’ jokes, after all.”

Kittens, puppies, Claude, good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They don't realize they're together now. It's going to be months of being obnoxiously cute at each other before their friends get fed up and tell them. "Hey, did you know you've been dating?"


	15. You bake a gingerbread man and it comes to life!

**15\. You bake a gingerbread man and it comes to life!**

The cookies Flayn made for the White Heron Cup were mostly Mercedes’ work. It was her recipe, and she helped walk Flayn through the process. When Flayn tried to bake on her own, she messed it all up. Now she’s determined to fix everything.

There’s one more casual event of the season, and that’s the Staff Mixer. Exams are finally over, the students are in various states of celebration/recovery, and the staff are celebrating “getting these brats off the darn mountain”, to quote Professor Manuela at the dining hall last night. “They make me feel old.”

“Good,” Professor Hanneman had responded. “Perhaps you’ll start acting your age then.”

“How dare you!” Professor Manuela had responded to this response. “I’m not a day over thirty!”

“Fifteen years ago!” Professor Hanneman had responded to this response to his response.

They disappeared sometime after, probably to make out in a storage closet somewhere.

Well, only a few students are sticking around during the break, and Mercedes is not one of them. Flayn goes online and finds the easiest gingerbread recipe she can, complete with step by step video tutorial. She watches each step multiple times during the process because everything is going to be Fine with these cookies. Absolutely. Fine.

She’s alone in a corner of the main kitchens, a space allowed to her only because of the sudden drop in daily food prep needs. Flayn focuses so diligently on the cookies that she doesn’t notice she has a visitor until the other girl speaks up.

“I wonder, will you come alive if you get baked?”

Flayn jolts up, dropping (and squashing) the first perfect gingerbread man cutout. Monica is _right there_ in front of her, sitting on the counter next to the dough, swinging her legs.

“Get… baked?”

“You know, eat the weeds? Puff that magic wyvern?” she drawls. Monica nonchalantly reaches into her pocket for a cigarette and lights up right there in the kitchen, not two feet away from a no smoking sign.

“Ah, I know what this is. This is a teenage mistake,” Flayn says. “You’re the cool older drug-peddling boy my father warned me about.”

Monica’s hooded eyes gleam invitingly. “I’m a girl though,” she says, and leisurely puffs a smoke ring. “And you’re older.”

“Regardless, I am supposed to say no to your various enticements, whether they be sex, drugs, or rock and roll.”

“It hurts that you’d see me that way. I’m not some asshole who would pressure you to do drugs and shit, Flayn. I mean, the innocence is part of your charm.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Now that I know you for the fiend you are, tell me why you have approached me, if not to get me to do drugs, which you certainly insinuated with that comment about getting ‘baked’.”

“It was a joke! You’re so stiff, like a cardboard cutout. Or a cookie cutout? I was wondering if I could get you to come to life if I baked you like these cute little gingerbread people you’re making.”

“The metaphor is duly noted,” Flayn says, and returns to making her cookies.

Monica pouts. “Is that really how it’s going to be? I’m gonna leave soon, you know, and who knows if I’ll ever make it back to GMU. Weren’t we friends once?”

“Yes, we were. Until you brought in the students of Shambhala Tech to betray us all. Father is very sore that you involved Professor Byleth, as am I.”

“It was an inside job! Rah, rah, go Eagles and all that. If we hadn’t done it, you wouldn’t have been able to go around in that reindeer costume. It was super cute on you, by the way.”

“Well thank you. I’m glad you appreciated my dedication to protecting the professor.”

Monica snorts in disbelief. “Professor Byleth’s probably the toughest bitch in this whole school. Your dad’s like, scary overprotective of her for absolutely _no_ reason. And girl, you’re legal. You should be able to hang with whoever you want.”

“Like you?”

“Like me!” Monica smiles in a way that could be described as sultry. She swipes a finger through the leftover cookie dough at the bottom of the mixing bowl and, eyes hooded, slowly sucks it into her mouth.

It’s sexy for about two seconds, after which she turns away and immediately retches into the sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sick recently, so a lot of writing time got replaced with blanket burrito time. These holiday shenanigans should wrap up around Valentine's Day, I wanna say? And hopefully I'll be able to get back to The Tea Merchant as well... once I'm finally over this stupid cold and can actually use my brain again... T^T
> 
> (Flayn/Monica is totally a thing now, awwwww yeah)


	16. The Grinch steals Santa's sleigh.  How will Santa deliver the presents?

**16\. The Grinch steals ~~Santa~~ Saint Cichol’s sleigh. How will ~~Santa~~ Saint Cichol deliver the presents?**

Exams are over. Students will be heading home en masse. It is time for the Black Eagles to make their last stand.

Edelgard von Hresvelg sits with regal poise upon her throne even as she feels her empire crumbling under the weight of lost battles and intimate betrayals. Her mouth is a stern line, her eyes hard and cold as steel. When she shifts forward to address the last of her loyal forces, a sound emanates from underneath the beaten up recliner cushion, a slow wheezing pfff-pfff-pttt-squeee-pff-pfft.

…pffff-ptt-ptt…

…pff.

Petra tilts her head in confusion. Dorothea gasps. Hubert’s left eye begins to twitch. The door to the rec room opens and Bernadetta peeks in, sees the murderous atmosphere, and runs away screaming. “Bernie gonna die like she lived, in absolute neutrality!”

Caspar gulps and says, “Um, I can, I can explain?”

Without ever moving her gaze from him, Edelgard reaches under her seat and with slow, deliberate actions pulls out the deflated whoopee cushion and flings it at his face. It lands with a satisfying rubber smack.

“It was for Hubert! I put it in there last week right before his brooding session!”

“Oh, for me, was it?” Hubert begins eying Caspar like an ingredient for his next illicit brew.

Caspar opens his mouth to try to defend himself once more, but before he can fail at that, Linhardt, who has been napping on a nearby beanbag, rises up and pats his mouth shut. “Shush, shoosh,” he says, then immediately sinks back down into a boneless heap.

Edelgard is a magnanimous leader. She chooses to move on. “Ahem. We are here to discuss our strategy for the final battle. The dean has had our Shambhalan reinforcements removed, but that’s fine. Our numbers may be diminished, but so are theirs.” She turns to her chief spy. “Dorothea, the latest status?”

“They’re working together, though I wouldn’t say seamlessly. I’d say we could play on that, but there’s no time…”

“And Ferdinand?”

“With the Lions, they’re guarding him. He’s been staying in Dimitri’s room, oddly enough.”

“How is that odd?” Petra asks. “Is not the leader’s room being most secure?”

“Well, yes, but…” Dorothea sighs and rubs her temples, unsure of how to report on the stupidity of events that have unfolded. “Yes, it would have made sense if they shared the room, but Dimitri’s _left_ his room, and the building entirely. He’s… he’s bunking with _Claude_.”

Strange, yes, but Edelgard doesn’t understand why Dorothea seems so troubled. Then it dawns on her. “Ah, I see. A combined command center. They’re working more closely together than I had anticipated.”

“Ngh, no, ahm, nnn?” Dorothea makes choked whimpery noises.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Uuuhhh, I dunno how well you guys know Claude, but I know him pretty well, and I just… Dimitri got him to _clean his room_. And they’re still doing animal therapy together after exams. And did I mention Claude’s room is clean?”

No one seems to get the implications that Dorothea is throwing out, though that’s not too surprising. She’s perhaps the only socially well-adjusted member of the crew, which is why Edelgard has her on spying duty. Hubert is great at exploiting weaknesses, but he knows little about the softer emotions. It leaves her frustrated, sometimes, to have to explain normal human interactions to the rest of them.

But then Linhardt rises once more, with pencil and notebook in hand. “Cleaned, you say? Do tell. How clean?”

“Sparkling. Perfection. He even vacuumed.”

“And your source?”

“Lysithea screaming about how unnatural it was.”

Linhardt flips through the notebook, his ledger. “Hmm. It appears no one was exactly correct on the bet for ‘why Claude finally cleans his room’. I suppose the prize can be split between ‘demonic possession’ by Leonie and ‘he gets a straightedge girlfriend who tames his roguish ways, j/k demonic possession’ by Hilda.”

Caspar seems like he wants to yell, then he swallows it down and instead whispers, eyes wide, “Dimitri _fucks_?”

“All right!” Edelgard ignores the embarrassed heat crawling up her own cheeks. “That’s enough of that, Lin. You may leave if you have nothing to contribute to the _war_ rather than your bets and rumors.”

Linhardt yawns. “No, I think I’ll stay,” he says emotionlessly. “I’m here for all the hot goss and spilled tea.”

Edelgard resists the urge to facepalm. Hubert takes two steps in from his position at the edge of the group and glowers even more darkly than he had been previously, and she knows all it would take is the twitch of a finger to send him over to ‘escort’ Linhardt from the meeting. But she’s too tired for that and instead waves for Hubert to step back into place.

“Whatever, let’s just get this over with. Everyone, we’re going to steal the sleigh. We’ll sled down the hill and get those lined up for the shuttle. It’ll… it’ll have to be our last stand.”

There’s a moment of silence as the others absorb this information, just a small sliver of time where they look around their circle of friends and reaffirm that they’re all in this together until the very end.

It’s broken by the faint scritching of Linhardt’s pencil. He’s sitting upright again. “Hmm, hmm. I see. Anyone want to put bets in on how this will go before the plan is put into action?”

Edelgard makes the motion. “Hubert, get him out of here.”

Hubert grabs his legs and begins dragging. Linhardt is unaffected.

* * *

Petra and Caspar are surveying the area while Edelgard leads Hubert and Dorothea to the shed where the sleigh is kept. There should be no more need for it this late into the holiday season, according to previous years’ delivery schedules. Then again, Professor Byleth has never taken on the role of Saint Cichol, so perhaps she will eventually notice the sleigh missing. They’ll have to be quick.

Hubert is one with the shadows. Dorothea slinks through the snow with a dancer’s grace. Edelgard herself is not best suited for stealth, but she is small and slight enough of stature not to make much noise no matter how she tromps.

They get in, no trouble. They pull the sleigh out into the snow, no trouble. Then, before they can drag it to the hill where the others are waiting, a hand lands on Edelgard’s shoulder and she turns around to meet Professor Byleth’s eyes straight on.

The Professor is _in_ the sleigh with her costume already on. She looks disapprovingly at the three wayward students and communicates guilt and shame to them without saying a single word.

Dorothea mumbles an apology. Hubert glowers. Edelgard holds her head high and takes the punishment with as much dignity as she can muster.

Saint Cichol makes one last gift delivery to the students waiting to catch a ride off the mountain, accompanied by her three reindeer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linhardt has been around since the beginning, just always curled up in a sunny spot to the side like one of the millions of cats. He sees all; he hears all. Usually people only bother him to make a bet or collect earnings.
> 
> There have been many times where Linhardt’s bookkeeping services almost made it into a scene, but I was like, nah, let him sleep for a while longer. For example, after Ferdie’s indoctrination into the Thirsty Bitches Club, he hunts down Lin in the library at 2am and changes his bet about Claude’s inhuman status from ‘incomprehensible tentacle thing from beyond the void’ to ‘actually I think he might be human, is that scarier?’
> 
> The percentage of students who think Edelgard isn’t quite human is actually the highest of the dorm leaders. Some put bets on the Black Eagles being a fully fledged vampire court. Some think it’s just Edelgard and Hubert, and the rest are their thralls. Some think they just roleplay vampire sex dungeon orgy. Ah, if only they knew the truth. It’s tough on Linhardt, being the campus’ secret-keeper… knowing how dumb everyone is, but being unable to say it.


	17. The Christmas tree thought to itself, “I sure look pretty tonight! But what will happen to me when Christmas is over?”

**17\. The ~~Christmas~~ Saint Cichol’s Day tree thought to itself, “I sure look pretty tonight! But what will happen to me when ~~Christmas~~ Saint Cichol’s Day is over?”**

The Garreg Mach Establishment Day Ball is more of an alumni and donors event than something for students. It’s all formal and stuffy, taking place in a fancy reception hall built next to the old cathedral, and all the upper crust families are sure to send at least one person to keep their name relevant among the socialites. The only quirk that sets apart this event from so many others (besides taking place in the mountains) is that, according to legend they’re supposed to meet with a loved one on the Goddess Tower at midnight, so the festivities start quite late into the evening.

It’s usually a black tie event, but this year they’ve decided to do a theme: ugly sweaters. Now there are hoity toity ladies and gentlemen sipping champagne and eating caviar in the most terrible holiday sweaters imaginable. Many are too bright, badly made, and ill-fitting. Some have LED lights sewn in. Some are “sexy” ugly sweaters, which are just ugly sweaters cropped to show too much skin for such cold weather or, goddess forbid, form-fitting designer ugly sweater-dresses.

Hubert is not wearing a “sexy” version of an ugly sweater. His sweater is not ugly at all, in fact. It fits him rather well, and any time one of his father’s acquaintances dares to try commenting on it, Hubert just glares deep into the person’s soul until they forget why they would ever willingly talk to him in the first place. If dark magic hadn’t been a banned art for more centuries than anyone but the dragons can remember, he might also have cursed them with some necrotic miasma. He doesn’t, but they know he wants to, and that’s all that matters.

Hubert is here on behalf of his family because he knows _Ferdinand_ will be here, and something needs to be done about him so that peace can return to their dorm once more.

Ferdinand, meanwhile, slinks out of Blue Lions protective custody in order to attend the ball. It’s a concession he made with his parents that he would represent their most noble house at this event in exchange for not having to go home to attend the same sorts of events in Enbarr, where the chances of direct confrontation with Edelgard are much higher. He’s not a coward, and it definitely wouldn’t be the first time he disagreed with Edelgard to her face, but… well, the wound’s still fresh and he doesn’t want to die.

Most of the students have gone home for the holidays, so there’s really only a skeleton crew left to “defend” him. It consists of Mercedes and Annette. Annette’s trying to reconnect with her deadbeat dad who may or may not be GMU’s head of security. (No one can confirm since his name is different and he seems to disappear whenever she’s in the room. It’s been hinted to Ferdinand that if the Lions weren’t trying to keep their reputation as the “responsible, sort of” dorm, they would have captured and strung him up for interrogation by now.) Mercedes is staying for solidarity, and also because she doesn’t have much family except her brother who is probably also on campus somewhere, brooding mysteriously as he does.

The girls have plied him with sweets and promised that no one will get through their shield. The scary thing is, Ferdinand believes them. He 100% believes these ladies are capable of shanking a bitch without batting an eye. Or, even scarier, while cutely batting their eyelashes. Mercedes giggles at the goriest slasher films. Annette has a taser named Mr. Zappy.

It’s with a twinge of remorse (and a healthy dose of fear/respect for their femme fatale potential) that he slips away to the ball without their knowledge. The unexpected ugly sweater theme would have been a problem if not for the fact that the Lions are huge on ugly sweaters. Every evening he’s spent with them, he’s seen students using ugly sweaters as loungewear. Half of Dimitri’s sweaters are hideous. Ferdinand helps himself to a blue and white one patterned with snowflakes and trees, and with an animal head dead center on the chest that is probably supposed to be a lion but looks more like a grumpy housecat mated with a llama. It’s really the least worst of Dimitri’s ugly sweater collection.

He resigns himself to channeling Dimitri for one night and makes it into the ballroom without issue, and from there proceeds to make the rounds, greeting all the big name families and saying just enough to be remembered as having been in attendance. After a few rounds of this, Ferdinand turns away to find a quieter corner. Before he can get away, he’s tapped on the shoulder and then immediately pulled out onto the dance floor.

“I should scream,” he says. There are a lot of other things he wants to say, but he bites them all down because it would be the very height of impropriety to make a scene at this sort of event, and his abductor knows it.

“Oh, please. It’s not like you couldn’t overpower me if you really wanted to get away,” Hubert says even as he continues to lead Ferdinand in a waltz like nothing is wrong.

“Could I though?”

“You’re the one who does _sports._ ” Hubert spits out that word like physical exertion is his archnemesis.

It probably is. Hubert is many things, but athletic is not one of them. As Ferdinand knows from accidental peeks in their high school locker room, he’s too skinny in some parts, and a bit squishy in others, and overall his physique is just very average, but that’s okay because Ferdinand has recently been forced to acknowledge his own receding hairline. He also looks very good in Ferdinand’s handmade sweater.

Life is so unfair. Ferdinand pouts. “Are you going to kill me now?”

Hubert rolls his eyes. “As opposed to later? Stop being so dramatic.”

“You are literally saying that to a theater major.”

“Shut up and come back to your room. Nobody’s going to kill you.”

Ferdinand takes a few seconds to process this development. They’re still dancing and now way too close to each other, whispering under the guise of leaning into a shoulder. It does all sorts of things to him, quickened heartbeats and clammy hands and all, but the weirdest thing is that Hubert doesn’t seem to be unaffected either. There’s almost – _almost_ – what appears to be a blush creeping up from his collar.

“Ah… your sweater is… interesting?” Ferdinand clumsily says the only thing that comes to mind.

“Hmph. I didn’t think you were so conceited as to compliment your own work.”

Well. _Well_. That certainly is a game changer…

Wait.

“But it’s an ugly sweater party. Are you calling my sweater ugly?!” Ferdinand gasps in indignation. He drops Hubert’s hands and stops the dance in favor of confronting him. “I know it’s not professional quality, and yes, maybe there’s a dropped a stitch or two! But I’ll have you know I put my heart into that! How _dare_ you!”

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s just made a scene in the middle of the ball. Shame floods through him and he dashes away from the party, leaving the gawkers and Hubert behind.

“Ferdinand, wait!” Hubert calls.

It only makes him run faster, out the door and down the stairs and all the way across the bridge back to the main part of campus while the midnight chime of the cathedral’s bell tower rings behind him. If Hubert gives chase, he falls behind. As he said, Ferdinand’s the one who does sports.

* * *

In the Blue Lions dorm, Annette and Mercedes have noticed Ferdinand’s disappearance. They went to invite him to watch a movie in the rec room, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found.

They’re nearing the climax of a bloody action flick. Guns everywhere on the screen. Distantly they hear the midnight chime of the cathedral. Not long after, Ferdinand appears at the door, sobbing. They unquestioningly pull him onto the couch and snuggle until his sniffles die down. Honestly, boys are so dumb and dramatic.

Headshot, headshot, decapitation by laser trap. The main character sprints down the blood-spattered hall to face the final boss. Hubert von Vestra, the most sinister student of GMU, voted most likely to become a serial killer, slams open the door completely out of breath. He’s wheezing and holding onto his side.

When Hubert sees Ferdinand, he just smiles. Creepily, especially with the way he’s half grimacing while he’s panting, but he can’t help that he was born with a villain’s face. It’s still the softest smile the girls have ever seen grace his features. They figure he’s also just being dumb and dramatic. Annette stealthily puts Mr. Zappy back into her pocket, and they motion for Hubert to take the lump that is Ferdinand.

Hubert removes the lump, who squeaks in protest, “Wait, you’re supposed to be protecting me from him!”

“Go make out!” Annette calls out through a mouth full of popcorn. Her eyes are glued to the screen where the hero has just been dropped into a tank full of sharks.

“Have fun but use protection!” Mercedes adds, tossing a few condoms their way. She volunteers at the student health center and makes it her duty to always have free condoms to pass out. Safe sex is very important.

Ferdinand, very confused, is being carted along by Hubert, who is still breathless and struggling after probably the most physical exertion he’s had since ever. The haphazardly tossed condoms bounce off his arm.

Two steps out the door, Hubert asks, huffing, “Are you, hah, going to, hng, use your legs? Or am I, geh, carrying you all the way back! Haa… haaah…”

Ferdinand, very confused, doesn’t have the mental ability to compute anything that’s happened in this emotional roller coaster of a night. He blinks slowly. Rubs his eyes. Blinks again.

“Carry on…”

And Hubert actually does just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drafting this chapter at the start of the fic: "Imma make Hubert work for it"
> 
> What actually happens: Hubert does a damn triathlon because he's too emotionally constipated to just be like, "Hey, I like you"
> 
> Oops
> 
> Oh well. Ferdinand von Aegir is Cinderella, pass it on.


	18. Santa's such a cool guy!  I wonder what he wants for Christmas?

**19. ~~Santa~~ Saint Cichol’s such a cool guy! I wonder what he wants for ~~Christmas~~ Saint Cichol’s Day?**

The days leading up to Saint Cichol’s Day have been a riot of activity, from getting caught in the students’ snow war to grading exams to attending various parties and events. So much has been going on that Byleth hasn’t had time to go shopping for presents. The day after the ball is the eve of the big holiday, and things are finally calm. It’s on this morning that she drives Flayn down the mountain and into the city for some last minute shopping.

Her car is small enough and has high enough safety ratings to get begrudging approval from Seteth, who still rides a wyvern everywhere. Apparently a giant carnivorous beast is safer than a car, and maybe he’s right. Wyvern crash statistics aren’t a thing, after all.

Sometimes Byleth has to swap out his lance for a briefcase though. Educator conferences are apparently as adrenaline-inducing as war. He forgets he’s not in the middle ages anymore when he has to prep for one. (That historical relic of a lance should really go to a museum though. Byleth makes a note to herself to secretly donate it so this accidental battle prep doesn’t happen again.)

“This is going to be so great!” Flayn says, practically bouncing in the passenger seat. “It feels like forever since I’ve been to a city!”

Flayn has been buzzing with energy since Byleth picked her up. Byleth and Seteth both live in the staff apartments, though Seteth’s place is much bigger since Flayn also lives there when she’s not away at her all girls boarding school. She shared a knowing look with her father when Byleth came over to pick her up, and Seteth also seemed keen for them to go out today, so perhaps he’ll have a surprise waiting when they get back.

Maybe the surprise will be a nice holiday dinner. Pleasant thoughts of a warm family meal and exchanging presents by the fire occupy Byleth’s mind the rest of the way.

When they get to the mall, both of them go wide-eyed in both anticipation and intimidation. So… many… shops… Civilization is truly to be feared. And… ugh. Oh no. A new tea shop has just opened.

Curses! Tea and trinkets, her greatest weaknesses!

Byleth is one of the few professors who have managed to lure students in for office hours, and she has only been able to do so by turning them into tea parties. She has a steady rotation of regulars – those upperclassmen who still have classes with her and have academic concerns to share – as well as a few irregulars who pop in once in a while to chat.

There’s also Linhardt, who is a regular fixture in Professor Hanneman’s office across the hall. He’s wrangled himself a position as Hanneman’s research assistant or something along those lines, possibly by merit of having planted himself on the ledge under Hanneman’s warm south-facing window and refusing to leave, though he often wanders over to Byleth’s office to feed and water himself.

Byleth thinks of Linhardt as she scrunches a soft and intricately-patterned cushion in the newly opened Almyran tea and imports shop, testing its comfort. Linhardt is like a cat. She wonders if she should try to lure him into her office and its colder north-facing window with a nice cushion on the windowsill (maybe get a heat lamp from the pet store?), or if she should just install the cushion into Hanneman’s office. She shrugs and resolves to figure that out later. The cushion goes into the shopping basket, perched awkwardly above mounds of new teas to try.

And because it’s an Almyran goods store, of course she has to top off on quality pine needles. They are good for luring in the irregulars Claude and Felix, who are also like cats. One slinks in to exchange secrets, and the other to hiss at Sylvain.

Oh, and there are sweets! Sweets to go with the tea, and for Lysithea and Annette and Dimitri… Her arms are laden with bags after visiting just one shop.

Byleth is walking like this, with too many bags hanging along both arms like she’s carrying an entire army’s convoy, when a shine catches her eye. There are glittering things everywhere in accordance with the season. Tinsel and ornaments, glittering decorations hanging from every display case, an entire three-story fake tree all decked out in the middle of the mall… Of course there are these things.

What Byleth spies isn’t anything particularly special. It’s not a glow that outshines the rest of the mall by any means. It’s just that she has been so content recently, and after getting such a good haul at the tea shop her thoughts begin to drift back to the home she’s found at Garreg Mach. With Flayn here by her side, tugging her toward this shop and that and asking to help carry some of the bags even when her own purchases are starting to pile up, and with Seteth waiting for them. Back home.

Seteth is hard to shop for. What can you get for a man who’s seen centuries? So far Byleth’s gifts to him have been modern conveniences like his first phone or his first coffee maker. Things that gave her an excuse to spend time together teaching him about the modern world; that gave her an excuse to do things with her fishing partner besides fishing.

She wants to keep spending time with him. More and more of it. As much time as they can have together, she wants it.

Her father told her that if she ever felt that way about someone, she should put a ring on it.

So when that feeling finally hits her in that mall, surrounded by food court smell and crying babies, Byleth marches right up to the jeweler and points to a simple silver band.

“Give me that one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It says 19 at the top and that's not a mistake. Where’s Day 18? I’m cheating and moving it for later because this stupid fic somehow grew multiple plot threads that need to be closed in the proper order.


	19. The funniest thing happened last night.  Santa got stuck in the chimney!

**20\. The funniest thing happened last night. ~~Santa~~ Saint Cichol got stuck in the ~~chimney~~ fishing pond!**

No one is at the pond on this day. No one is here to witness his battle.

Flayn has known of Seteth’s plan to propose to Byleth for quite some time. She’s the one who comes up with the idea of getting Byleth off campus for the day so that Seteth can do what must be done to recover the ring. She’ll have her phone on her, and she said to text when he’s done or if he needs her to stall for a while longer.

It’s not that Seteth hasn’t been trying to get the ring back ever since it was lost, but the Pond Monster has been an elusive beast. Whenever he’s had a spare moment, Seteth has been either going down to the pond to try his luck, or researching modern fishing tactics on the internet.

He’s ordered so many new lures and tackles and baits that he’s close to being able to set up a fishing goods shop on his own. And yet, none of it has been successful.

Part of it may be the size and nature of the fish. No one has gotten a good glimpse of the Pond Monster, though there are reliable reports of its size based on measurements of its shadow. It’s _huge_ for a freshwater fish. Much too big to swim out of the streams that feed into and out of the small lake. Seteth suspects that it’s a type of fish called the Goddess Messenger, known for being a lucky catch due to how wily they are as well as for the legends surrounding the opalescent rainbow sheen of their scales.

He suspects, also, that many decades ago, some students dug too deeply into the university’s archives and were inspired by medieval accounts of sacred and demonic beasts, and that said students did not heed the dark magic bans as well as they should have. The culprits and their motives remain unknown, but the fact of the matter is that there is a fish in that pond which has been infused with the draconic blood of a crest-bearer, and that fish has since grown to a size and intelligence befitting the name Pond Monster. What a sad fate to befall one of the goddess’ sacred fish.

Had it not stolen the ring, Seteth would leave the thing be, even though it’s been known to occasionally eat cats dumb enough to trespass into its watery domain. But as it stands there is only one thing left to do. He must fight the beast on its own turf.

Seteth stands on the pier facing the water, takes a deep breath, and dives right in.

As he sinks, he changes, the flash of light shining so brightly it can be seen even above the water.

* * *

The trunk of the car is completely stuffed full of goods. Byleth and Flayn make their way up the winding mountain roads before it gets dark so that Seteth won’t worry.

Flayn had received no text telling them _not_ to come back, though she had asked if it was okay, so she assumed it was fine. Perhaps her father was just moping that he had failed to find the ring, but that was all right, because it turned out Byleth was thinking the same thing! At this thought, Flayn vibrates in her seat just as much as she had this morning.

The excitement is short-lived, as when they return to campus there appears to be a small-scale panic. There are very few people around compared to when school is in session, but there _are_ still people around. Sensing the disturbance, Byleth catches a hold of a student running toward… a glow in the distance? In the direction of the pond?

“What’s going--”

“Dragon!”

Byleth’s eyes widen. Oh no.

She sprints in the same direction, and yes the pond is glowing. Sort of. It’s more of a reflection from the glittering white scales of the giant fish monster and the giant _dragon_ fighting in the pond.

There are many things wrong with this picture. First, no fish in that pond has ever had quite so many teeth as Combatant #1 seems to have in its maw, which is wide enough to swallow a small child. The thing has the glowing rainbow coloration of a Goddess Messenger, but the rest of it looks like it came from the depths of hell.

Second, Combatant #2 is a motherfucking dragon. It appears to have fur in addition to scales, mostly along the face, though this is hard to see with the water slicking it down and with the constant thrashing about. It’s white, though not perfectly so like the images of the Immaculate One. There are stripes of a darker shade along its body, and this along with the possible fur makes the dragon appear tiger-like.

The small crowd gathered by the pond seems unsure of which creature to root for. Dragons are holy beings, Old Ones created in the image of the goddess herself, but the Pond Monster has been a fixture of Garreg Mach for decades! …But the Pond Monster also eats cats… and it definitely has still been growing since the last measurements were made. If it’s not taken out, will it eventually eat the drunk students who fall in?

Before they can make up their minds, the dragon sinks its tiger-like fangs into the Pond Monster’s gills. It throws its head back and whips the fish onto shore where it lands with a sickening _thud-splurch_.

Many breaths are held as the Pond Monster’s flopping slows and then stops. The dragon struggles to pull itself out of the pond but realizes its stuck in the mud. It, too, stills.

Professor Byleth strides forward.

“Seteth! I told you no dragon-yeeting!”

The dragon in the pond looks confused. About as confused as a giant mythical creature can look when its face is so far from human. When it responds, its voice is a rasping, growling reverberation, a sound no mortal was meant to hear.

The majestic creature from the heavens once contained in the humanoid vessel known as Seteth says, “I ask you again, what is a yeet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Seteth gets unstuck by transforming back and swims back to shore, Byleth says, "This is a yeet!" and throws her ring at him. He digs through the corpse of the Pond Monster and finds his ring in its belly.
> 
> "Like this?" he asks, and yeets his ring to her, still kinda covered in fish guts. He thinks it's some weird post-modernist proposal.
> 
> That's it, that's how they get engaged.


	20. All the elves cheered for Santa as he left, apart from one jealous little elf.

**21\. All the elves cheered for** ~~**Santa** ~~ **Saint Cichol** **as he left, apart from one jealous little elf.**

The news hits social media like a celebrity scandal. Everyone’s posting, re-posting, and linking pictures of the… incident. And it’s not surprising. What starts as another cryptid story (and there are many surrounding GMU) quickly shifts into a romance, and an odd one at that.

Told in pictures, the story goes like this. First there’s a dragon, the earliest time-stamped images coming from the Paranormal Investigation Society of GMU’s surveillance footage of the pond… and then the monster fish they’ve been chasing for years finally appears… and then suddenly the two creatures are fighting to the death. What the fuck.

Professor Byleth, everyone’s cool big sis, arrives on the scene. At this point there is a tinny audio recording taken from someone’s phone of the dragon possibly saying “yeet”. This quickly becomes a meme. The dragon transforms into Seteth, the university’s dean, who is actually disturbingly hot in a barbaric way when he’s soaking wet and covered in fish guts. Since he’s so stodgy, sometimes people forget that he’s some sort of resurrected medieval warrior who probably took part in the actual historical crusades and, like, bathed in the blood of the infidel. Now there’s photo proof.

Finally, rings go flying. Literally flying. They chucked rings at each other. Somehow that doesn’t end in another fight. Instead they hold hands and kiss and are engaged. Neither of them is good at social media, but their pages reflect the changed relationship status, and there are some pictures recently posted of the lovey-dovey couple gazing at the sunset. Wearing matching sweaters. With Flayn as an adorable family unit. The cute is so strong it’s positively lethal.

The news also hits the actual news like a pretty rich girl going missing. A dragon was reported at Garreg Mach, this one never before seen. There are dozens of eyewitnesses. Historians scour libraries and museums for a dragon matching the description of this one and come up with dozens of theories and potential matches. A fish-beast carcass is currently being studied by scientists. As it always happens when a Nabatean is sighted in dragon form, politicians start debating the necessity of their protected status.

“Who will protect _us_ from _them_?” the proponents of genocide ask disingenuously, as if a couple of flying beasts is anything to worry about in the age of nukes and space travel.

“They should be brought into government custody for study,” say some other awful fucking people.

“Shut the fuck up and let the dragon man kill monster fish before they eat people,” says everyone else.

* * *

Far to the north, Felix and Sylvain are chilling at Felix’s house because Sylvain’s family is a bag of dicks. When the news hits, Sylvain starts shouting and flailing and shoving his phone in Felix’s face. The first time he does this, Felix brushes him off. Sylvain contents himself with furiously tapping out messages – probably something inappropriate like sending a bunch of eggplant emojis – for about a minute.

Then he’s back in Felix’s face. “You _have_ to see this!”

“I really don’t,” Felix says. He nudges Sylvain away once more.

Unfortunately, this keeps up for hours. They’re in Sylvain’s room, on his goddess damned bed, and he’s still glued to the drama unfolding on his phone. Felix tries deep breathing exercises. He tries to remember his anger management lessons…

He snaps anyway, right around the time Sylvain starts snickering over getting Byleth a bad dragon dildo for a wedding present because “I’ll have graduated by then so it’s fine, right?”

Felix lunges for the phone, lightning quick. He chucks it across the room and sinks it into the laundry basket with perfect aim. “Stop sexually harassing the professor,” he says, even as he pushes his stupid idiot dumbass asshole jerkwad boyfriend down onto the bed and starts pulling his pants down.

Honestly, what sort of absolute moron is Sylvain not to realize that Felix’s grunts mean “pay attention to me”?

* * *

Somewhere to the east, Lorenz and Lysithea, cousins many times removed, are having an awkward extended family dinner. They’re huddled together on the couch because the rest of their cousins are fucking insufferable.

When the news hits, they think nothing of it at first – cock their heads to the side in confusion, shrug, send “congrats” messages. Then, to keep avoiding their fucking insufferable cousins, they keep scrolling, keep engaging with the comment threads.

“Oh goddess,” Lorenz says. “Lysithea, have you seen the post speculating on the origins of the Pond Monster?”

“No, link it to me.”

Moments later, she looks up. Their eyes meet in grim determination.

Dinner is called, and they make sure to sit together facing their fathers who are slapping each other on the back guffawing about the good ol’ days. Lorenz’s eyes flicker to the hearth, and to the weird glowy twitchy family heirloom above it.

Not quite meeting his father’s eyes, he asks, “Father, did you and Uncle ever make a… blood pact to celebrate your friendship? In the woods perhaps, or, or by the pond?”

Lysithea is not as subtle. She’s staring directly at the older gentlemen in a very unnerving way. “What Lorenz means,” she says with an intense unblinking stare, “is did you ever take the family’s dark magic artifact for a spin around Garreg Mach’s pond, because I’m pretty sure you did, and _you’re_ the ones responsible for making the cat-eating fish that’s all over the news! They found a raccoon in its stomach! It was big enough to eat a toddler!”

There’s silence after her outburst. All that can be heard is Lysithea’s huffing breaths as she calms herself. Everyone at the long dinner table looks to the weird glowy twitchy family heirloom, some sneaking peeks and others outright staring with expressions ranging from disgust to despair. Seriously, why the hell can’t they hang a photo or a wreath or something that doesn’t move on its own? Why are they the only family so old-fashioned? Does anyone even know what it’s made of?

Great-great-grandmama Myrtle says, “I knew we should have donated the damn thing. Goddamned dragon bones.”

Quite a few faces turn varying shades of green at this revelation. Hooray. We’ve had a relic of the historical dragon genocide twitching on that wall for generations.

“I… I think I’m gonna be sick,” says cousin Eustace.

It’s the worst family reunion dinner ever.

* * *

To the south, Dorothea is happy for the Professor when she first hears of the engagement, and she would be fine with all this dragon stuff too… Except it’s eating up all of Edie’s attention. They were supposed to have a fun winter vacation together, but ever since the news hit, Edelgard has been glued to her phone, scrolling through the same pictures and comments over and over.

Edelgard is staying at her dad’s house – well, mansion. Estate? It’s fucking huge. To be fair, her mom and stepdad’s place is fucking huge too, but she feels too awkward around them even though it’s been years since the divorce.

“I don’t understand,” she mumbles like a crazed conspiracy theorist. “What does she see in him?”

“Edie… you’re starting to scare me…”

“Hear me out, Dorothea. He’s old, he’s a widower, his kid’s almost our age. We knew all of that. But now we find out that _old_ means _centuries_ old, and he’s a dragon, and he was probably some horrid medieval religious crusader! What could she possibly see in him? I call foul play! Brainwashing! What does he have that I don’t?”

Dorothea has had enough at this point. She’s not even thinking when she retorts, “Well, what does _she_ have that _I_ don’t?!”

She immediately regrets it. The answer to that is obviously everything. Byleth is confident while Dorothea is just a pretender. Byleth is beautiful even when she just rolls out of bed and into class, but Dorothea doesn’t feel confident enough to face the world until she has mascara on. Saying no to men is as easy as breathing for Byleth, but Dorothea still has to tease them even when she’s uninterested because she’s so fucking insecure about anyone ever loving her for anything other than her body.

Edelgard has been obsessed with Byleth since forever. It wouldn’t be a surprise if all the stunts she pulled this year were just to get Byleth’s attention. It was stupid of Dorothea to think she could compete with that.

She turns away to hide her sniffles and walks out into the snow.


	21. Grandma always said this snowglobe was magic, so I shook it to see…

**22\. Grandma always said this snowglobe was magic, so I shook it to see…**

For maybe the first time in Edelgard’s life, Hubert is unavailable. He’s not there when she turns around. He doesn’t immediately respond when she texts. When she calls, it goes to voice message, and it’s Ferdinand’s voice that responds.

“Edelgard, it’s me,” the Ferdie-recording says. “I’ll apologize properly to you when we meet in person, but as you know, Hubert and I are together now. I’ve finally seen the true extent of your unhealthy co-dependency, and that has to end if either of you is to have healthy relationships with other people in the future. Leave a message after the beep!”

Beep.

Cheeky bastard.

She hangs up without saying anything. It’s not as if Hubert would have been any help with people problems anyway, besides getting rid of those people. Edelgard does not want to get rid of Dorothea. She wants Dorothea to come back inside, but is deathly afraid that if she goes out there and says the wrong thing, Dorothea will pack up her things and leave for good.

None of her friends would know what to do. Dorothea was the only one of them to understand that stuff. And what are the chances that anyone would answer her call right away on Saint Cichol’s Day?

But. There _is_ someone. Someone who’s been waiting and reaching out to her all this time.

As Edelgard has been so abruptly thrust into this self-reflection and her world shaken apart, all her schemes and reasonings come undone. She suddenly remembers holidays in Fhirdiad with her mother, and being told to play with Dimitri while their parents had an affair.

They hadn’t known it at the time, and when she was old enough to understand, it just about destroyed her. It did destroy her friendship with Dimitri, at least on her end. It was safer to hate him than to admit no one was to blame for her family falling apart except adults falling out of love. These things happen, she knows in her mind. But it’s harder to accept the emotional truth. Even after she found out her parents had separated before her mother started seeing someone new, it was still easier to be jealous of Dimitri for stealing her mother, and to accuse her mother of loving her new family more.

It was so easy to blame anyone but herself.

Dimitri might be stiff and awkward at times, but he’s still much better at being social. Somehow he escaped her dastardly plan for him to team up with Claude, only to have Claude stab him in the back. Somehow he wrangled himself a boyfriend out of this, if the rumors are to be believed. Perhaps she read them both very wrong.

She’d meant to delete it, but his number is still at the very bottom of her contacts, under the cruelly named ‘Zzzz Sleeping Beast’. She cringes, but presses it anyway.

He picks up after only two rings.

“Hello, El. I’m surprised you called. Happy Saint Cichol’s Day!”

“Y-yes, you too. Happy holidays.”

“You sound… are you okay?” he asks.

And honestly, she doesn’t know. The truth is, she probably hasn’t been okay in a very long while.

“Dimitri, what would you do if you made your best friend cry, and now she’s outside and you want her to come back in but you don’t know what to say?”

Dimitri is silent for a while. Then he asks, “Hubert’s crying?”

“…This is stupid.”

“Wait!” he says before she can hang up. “El, I think you know what to do. I know you hate to hear it, but you need to open up about your feelings. Let her know how much she means to you.”

“You really want me to say that sort of sappy shit to you, huh?”

Dimitri chuckles. “Maybe. Well, I think mom needs to hear it, but we can talk later. You have a friendship to save.”

It feels like eternity, but less than ten minutes have passed. It’s cold outside, though not as cold as up in the mountains. The snow is coming down in wispy flurries. Dorothea is out in the back yard, looking over the expanse of the Hresvelg estate.

Edelgard approaches slowly. She puts her coat over Dorothea’s shoulders. They stand there together for a little while before she gets up the courage to whisper, “I’m sorry. You’re very important to me, Dorothea. I’m sorry if I made you feel anything less.”

“It’s funny,” Dorothea says. “I was trying to mope out in the snow like a tragic heroine, but this slush isn’t the right aesthetic for it. It ruined my grand exit.”

Sure enough, the piles of brownish gunk squish under their feet. It never gets cold enough in Enbarr for proper snow. The little flurries mostly melt as soon as they hit the ground.

“I used to have a snow globe,” she continues, “back when my parents were still alive. My grandma gave it to me, and I’d never seen snow before, you know, actual proper snow. Not this slushy stuff, but the stuff you can play in. There was a princess in it, and she was so icy and cool and beautiful. I used to shake that snow globe and wish I could be like her or marry someone like her. I loved her, but it was also sad that she was stuck in her own little world where it was always winter, and she would never know spring. You remind me of her, Edie. Just a little bit.”

Edelgard swallows, but the lump in her throat remains. “I’m not… good at letting people get close to me, Dorothea. You know that. I’m not really in love with Professor Byleth, but having a crush on her is safe because she’s untouchable. It’s easier than, than…”

“Than having to actually work at a relationship?”

“Yes. That. What if it fails? It can’t fail if it never starts.”

Dorothea sighs. “So nothing is ever going to start, then? I packed that crotchless lingerie for nothing?”

“That’s not what I-- what?!”

“Oh, Edie, look at you blushing! Like a tomato! Or a _cherry_ ,” she says with a salacious wink.

“A-anyway! We have much to discuss, so… so… please come back inside.”

A lifetime of issues don’t go away with just that one conversation, but it’s a start, and they’re there for each other the rest of the way.

When school starts up again, Edelgard and Dorothea regularly stop by for animal therapy. Dorothea shows up in her sweats with no makeup on, and it helps her better understand that there are people who love her no matter what she looks like. The dogs and cats don’t judge her for not having her hair done. Neither does Edelgard.

For Edelgard, it’s helping her come to terms with the fact that the squishy bits of her heart still exist and are in need of care. Professor Manuela is very smug about it.

“I thought you were too sane for this,” Manuela says, sipping from a mug of probably-spiked coffee.

Edelgard does not deign to give that a reply.

* * *

Hubert is having a late night alone in the lab when Dimitri walks in with a very intense and serious look on his face. For a hot second, he’s afraid Dimitri is going to throw a punch and possibly break every bone in his squishy nerd body, and he doesn’t even know what for. It’s been a while since he tried to poison Dimitri.

“Can I help you?” he manages to drawl out while cold sweat starts trickling down his neck.

Dimitri stands right across the table and plants both palms down on the surface. He leans forward and says, “Hubert. I know we are not close, but it has come to my attention that I have been misgendering you, and for that I sincerely apologize. I’m so sorry for my ignorance. If there’s another name I should call you, please let me know.”

He fucking bows.

Hubert just stares and doesn’t respond. Eventually, Dimitri takes that as a rejection and leaves.

Hubert looks around the lab. Nothing that he can see is giving off fumes.

What.


	22. There once was a cow who wanted to be one of Santa's reindeer.

**23\. There once was a cow who wanted to be one of ~~Santa~~ Saint Cichol’s reindeer.**

A few days after the engagement, talk of it has mostly calmed down for the people who are actually acquainted with those involved. The news of the dragon and monster fish is another thing entirely, but as with most stories involving cryptids, the world may never fully agree on the truth.

Somewhere else to the east, even farther out than where the terrible family dinner occurred, Claude, Hilda, and Leonie are in Hilda’s very pink room. Despite the color scheme, it doesn’t look like Barbie vomit or a little child’s bubblegum princess nightmare. Hilda knows design, after all, so there are blacks and more muted shades to make the brights pop, and lots of cool textures and patterns that contrast and draw the eye across the space.

It feels like someone is crashing girls’ night. Claude and Leonie are both unsure of who it is between the two of them. Or maybe it’s both. Maybe girls’ night is supposed to be just Hilda and her pink vibrator, Claude thinks.

Leonie does _not_ think that because she’s not a pervert.

Regardless, Claude is currently only half visible. Most of him has sunken into a pile of lacy cushions. He’s texting Dimitri.

“Claude, why are you even here if you’ve already bagged your man? And what the hell do you guys even say to each other anyway?” Hilda kicks him with a socked foot. Dimitri seems nice but kind of boring? He definitely seems too vanilla to be subjected to a weirdo like Claude, Hilda thinks in the most loving way possible. Maybe she ought to protect Dimitri? Nah, that’s work.

“Okay, one, I have not yet bagged my man. This is part of my twelve step plan. Two, animal memes. We exchange pure, wholesome doggos, cattos, and the occasional snek.”

Leonie’s voice is deadpan. “He doesn’t know how much of a pervert you are, does he?”

“No, and it’s going to _stay that way_ until I’ve bagged my man.” He gives her a pointed look that says ‘don’t spill the beans on me’.

Many thoughts run through Hilda’s mind, like how it’s possible for Claude to not know they’re dating already. He’s the smartest person she knows. He might well be the smartest person she’ll _ever_ know. And it’s not like he’s people-dumb or anything. Not usually, anyway. Maybe this is what they mean when they say love is blind. She considers telling him Dimitri is pretty well bagged, bagged like groceries by that cute bag boy at the new organic food mart, but that’s also work. Besides, it’ll be fun to see where things go on their own.

She says, instead, “Twelve step plans are for alcoholism, not dating.”

Claude flips her off with a smile.

Leonie says, “Whatever. I’m gonna go horseback riding with Marianne on Saturday. You guys wanna come?”

“Hmmm.” Hilda is conflicted. “Can I just watch you guys? I mean, I’m always down to hang with Marianne, but riding will make my thighs sore, and not in the fun way.”

“Sure, come along.” Leonie shrugs. “Claude, what about you?”

In the short time since he last spoke, Claude has sunken down even further into the pillow mound. His head is no longer visible. Weird muffled squeaks come from the pile, and it twitches… then stills.

Claude reemerges, pushing his hair back in a cool manner. “I can’t. I’ve got a date,” he says calmly.

The coolness is a complete lie, as the girls can plainly see from the pink still staining his cheeks.

Hilda kicks him again. “Is it though?”

“Well, no. He doesn’t know it’s a date, thinks we’re just going to hang out as friends, but it’s a _date_. I’m _in_. Step three of my twelve step plan commences.” He gets up and gives them a two-finger salute. “See ya, ladies.”

They watch, unimpressed, as he leaves.

“Is someone gonna tell him that they’ve been dating for a month?” Leonie asks.

“That wasn’t dating, that was _therapy_.” Hilda rolls her eyes.

“Huh. Meeting a guy in therapy. I guess that’s one way of ensuring he’s willing to get help for his crazy.”

Hilda nods. “Claude’s smart like that.”

* * *

Dimitri’s family is Old Money, with the capital letters. The Fhirdiad Museum of History used to be the castle his ancestors lived in. They’ve since moved into more modern housing, but still do weird rich people shit, like hold stuffy banquets and hang up portraits of 18 generations of esteemed ancestors.

Claude learns all this on his brief stay before he’s shuffled into the back of an SUV and they all drive off on a family road trip to Duscur. This is also one of the weird rich people things they do, the annual road trip to Duscur. But this year all of Dimitri’s childhood friends are busy climbing each other – Ingrid and Felix’s older brother off on some romantic getaway, and Felix and Sylvain probably locked away in Felix’s room having a kinky sex marathon…

Claude is the replacement for that, maybe? He briefly wonders why no one else who was invited wanted to come – surely Dimitri invited Annette, Mercedes, Ashe…? – but the reason is made abundantly clear very soon.

Lambert Blaiddyd puts on classic Faerghus music when he drives. It’s all accordions and bagpipes for five hours. They cross the border into the Duscur Autonomous Region, and pass by a city without stopping. They pass by a few small towns without stopping. Eventually it’s just a bunch of nothing. Just snow. Claude feels his balls shrivel just looking outside at all the snow he’ll be wading through, and unlike at university, no central heated buildings to duck into when the chill sets in.

They only stop when they come across an encampment. Perhaps some would call it a village. It’s just a few cabins and traditional tents.

“When you said we were going to see reindeer…”

“We’ll be herding reindeer, yes. It’s tradition for the people of Duscur. My family has been joining in for many generations as Faerghus’ ambassadors of goodwill. You mentioned you were doing a dissertation on the minorities of Fodlan, so I thought you’d be interested in seeing one of the old treaties still at work.”

Dimitri smiles so brightly, and he remembered Claude’s disjointed ramblings about the history of race relations. Claude feels his protests begin to crumble even as he shivers not one minute out of the nice heated car.

Dedue waves them over, and so Claude sets off to learn, um, reindeer husbandry? How did he ever think this would be a romantic trip?

For the next week, Claude’s life is a snowy field of reindeer, and also one spotted cow wearing felt antlers, clearly out of place. He feels her, that cow. Freezing your ass off while watching Dimitri and the reindeer frolic in the snow, seemingly unable to feel the cold…

“Okay, Bella,” he says to the cow. “Revised step four of my twelve step plan – play up the shivering and get Dimitri to give me his fluffy-ass cloak. What do you think?”


	23. The star at the top of the tree started glowing and shaking. A big flash and we were gone…

**24\. The star at the top of the tree started glowing and shaking. A big flash and we were gone…**

The first day back from winter break is filled with mixed feelings for the students. It’s the dawn of a new semester. Reluctance about getting back into the grind is tempered by the joy of seeing friends for the first time in a long while. Everyone’s catching up. Excited chatter is everywhere, echoing through the old lecture halls and the brand new labs. Lazier, quieter conversations weave in and out of hearing range. Lone students with headphones on and steaming cups of coffee in their hands weave in and out of crowds.

Byleth is not in the little converted storage closet of a classroom this time, but rather a converted break room because she has a total of _ten_ students for this class! To celebrate, she writes on the wheeled-in white board, “COMBINATORICS IS FUN! :)”

One of the students is Dimitri. It’s syllabus day, and already his eyes are beginning to glaze over. Byleth hasn’t had him since Calc I during his freshman year, but he’s an occasional tea time visitor and his reputation far precedes him. She fears she will be the cause of his next end-of-semester breakdown, and she wonders if bringing tea time into class will help.

All in all, it’s a regular day. And all of this is interrupted by Seteth’s panicked shouts.

He rushes about like a madman, slamming open classroom doors and roaring through the snowy paths between buildings. Impending murder is written on his face, and this is taken very seriously now that they all know he’s a motherfucking dragon.

Seteth stalks through the grounds, combing the campus like a grid, hitting the fishing pond and greenhouse area first. “Flayn!” he calls into the greenhouse.

The handful of botany and agriculture students in the greenhouse at this time freak out and, as one, hide behind the human wall that is Dedue. Dedue, to his credit, is able to hold his ground.

“Get Professor Byleth,” he says. The calm rumble of his voice snaps them out of their fear enough that a few students are able to scatter off in search of her or someone who knows where she can be found.

Word spreads until Sylvain bursts into the converted break room.

“Yo professor, Seteth’s on a rampage! Oh, hey, combinatorics? _Nice_.” He shoots double pistols and a wink at the ten students, and then nudges Dimitri with an elbow. “This is the start of the good stuff.”

Dimitri’s face is that of stoic suffering. He whimpers a little bit. Just a tad. It’s covered up by the shuffling of papers.

Byleth, meanwhile, is halfway out the door. “Where?”

Sylvain quickly checks his phone. “Uh, last sighting was by the gate?”

She grunts in affirmation. “We’ll end class early today.”

Some of the students follow her out of curiosity as she makes a beeline for the gate. Drama is about to go down. They can smell it in the air. So Byleth, trailing students like ducklings and picking up more along the way, finds Seteth bullying the security guard at the campus police station by the gate.

“What do you mean you just let her go? Did she say where?”

“I’m sorry, sir, she passed by on a motorcycle and I only knew it was her because I saw green hair under the helmet. We don’t have any laws about who’s allowed in or out of campus unless some crime has been committed,” the guard said.

GMU is a private institution (hence the ability to claim “tradition” as a reason to hire freshly reanimated dragon-saints with minimal government interference), but the gates are still open most of the time, and people allowed to freely come and go if they are legally adults. As Flayn is.

Seteth, however, doesn’t see it that way. “A motorcycle! And who was driving such a thing? Flayn would not know how to operate one on her own without a license for it.”

The guard shrugs helplessly. “They were wearing helmets. It was a girl, I think? In black riding leathers. That’s all I can say.” He sees Byleth come up then, and turns to greet her. “Oh hi, professor! Nice weather we’re having!”

She nods to him, then turns to Seteth. “Flayn didn’t leave a message?”

“I’ve searched everywhere! This is most unlike her. I can only fear she has been kidnapped.”

Byleth nods again. “Did you check your phone?”

“…Oh. No, I have not.”

His daughter had mentioned wanting to do things ‘as a modern young lady’, Seteth remembers. Paperless is all the rage now. He awkwardly fumbles for the device in his back pocket. The onlookers wait with bated breath as he slowly and meticulously taps his way into his messages. His face brightens. And then darkens.

Flayn has indeed left a message. Byleth looks over Seteth’s shoulder to see it.

_Hello Father, as it is still winter vacation for me, I would like to visit my friend Monica until school starts. Peace!_

This is followed by a dozen nonsense emojis. Smiley smiley laugh heart kiss 100 smiley sunglasses fish fish smiley. Flayn’s goal to become ‘a modern young lady’ is still a work in progress.

Seteth texts back: _No. I will not allow it. Come back right this instant, young lady!_

A minute passes. The message has been read. Flayn is typing a response. Seteth gasps when he sees the moving dots.

She replies: _You only said I wasn’t allowed to be alone in the company of men. You said nothing about women, and it’s unfair to change the rules now._ _Also, I am an adult and can make friends with whomever I want. >:(_

Seteth puts his phone away. He looks into the distance, face steeled in determination. His teeth are grit and hands shaking as he tries to hold back his temper.

“Those dastardly Shambhalans… I’m getting my lance,” he says, and begins striding forth.

“I donated it,” Byleth says.

Seteth stops, sucks in a breath, turns on his heel and walks the other way. “I’m getting my wyvern.”

“Hold up, me too!” Claude scurries after him, cackling something about schemes and revenge.

Sylvain then chases after Claude. “Wait, get the sleigh!”

Seteth flies down the mountain on his wyvern on a quest to retrieve his daughter from the forces of evil. Behind him is a wyvern shuttle bus. That is, a bus cabin pulled aloft by two wyverns. Strapped to the top of the cabin of the wyvern shuttle bus is the rave sleigh, shining bright.


	24. It is the year 2020, Christmas has just been banned all over the world!

**18\. It is the year 2020, ~~Christmas~~ Saint Cichol’s Day has just been banned all over the world!**

Flayn is 18 going on 918. The education system was much different prior to her latest nap. Back then, there weren’t so many schools separate from the Church, not all commoners were expected to know their letters and numbers, and “secondary education” wasn’t a thing. If one wanted more education than the local Church schools could provide, why, one joined the clergy! Or apprenticed oneself to a scholar, perhaps.

Garreg Mach was around, of course, but it was a military academy that trained the young elites for knighthood. Most of what Flayn learned isn’t useful anymore. That is to say, she was somewhat lacking in formal education when she woke up.

It’s now her senior year at Seiros Queen of Virgins Preparatory School, an all-girls boarding school established more than five hundred years ago, back when “virgin” was a term you could apply to any young lady or forever-youthful saint. (Aunt Seiros was not a virgin in the modern sense. Flayn knows because she got the talk from her. It was much more detailed than necessary, and included personal anecdotes.)

People talk about SQOV with an odd mixture of reverence and disdain. Some say its moral demands for young ladies are outdated, but others praise its rigorous academics, and still others think that being smacked by nuns builds character. It was the only school her father would approve of when she said she didn’t want to be home schooled, naively thinking that there would be more freedom this way. But no, the teachers are every bit as strict as her father, but also hardened to cute girls’ puppy eyes in a way her father is not.

Flayn is going to finish her term at SQOV, and then spend at least four more years being supervised by her father at GMU, but first she wants to experience a whirlwind romance. So when Monica zooms onto campus on her jet black bike and says, “Hey baby, wanna take a ride with me?” and then almost falls over trying to lean on it seductively, Flayn is charmed.

She says, “Okay.”

Monica really does fall over then, but there’s something to be said for a girl who can puke in front of her crush and still come back to try again; who can trip on nothing in the dorkiest way and still get up to waggle her eyebrows.

Monica whisks her off to… well, not a romantic location. To her cramped dorm room at Shambhala Tech. The ‘evil’ university looks disappointingly average. Lots of metal accents on the buildings, though. Very shiny. The students look very average too, when they’re not being mysterious hooded figures. There’s still a lot more black shirts and spiky accessories compared to the colorful fashion trends of GMU (and especially the “rainbow rangers” of the Golden Deer), but they’re just… just people.

It’s board game night for Monica’s gaming club. They’re a MMORPG raiding guild on other nights, but since they all live in the same building, they figured they should speak to each other in person at least once in a while. Hence, board game night. Apparently they’re really into the Agarthan history of the school because they insist on calling each other by their handles, which are all named after ancient Agarthan sages.

There’s Bias and Chilon, Cleobulus and Pittacus. Strange names all around. Flayn has no idea what any of their actual names are, apart from Monica, who is currently arguing with a ‘Myson’, who appears to be their de facto leader.

“I wanna be Kronya,” Monica says.

Myson scoffs. “You can’t be Kronya, that’s a holiday, not a person.”

“So? Who decided we all had to be named after gross dead people? Thales and Solon already graduated, we don’t take orders from them anymore. Or what, you gonna force me to change my handle?”

Periander, a girl with bright violet streaks in her dark hair, and who reminds Flayn of a goth Lysithea, tries to find a middle ground. “Well,” she says, “What about Anacharsis? You like her works…”

“No, I’m Kronya and that’s final. If you hadn’t noticed, we have a _guest_ today, so let’s just play, okay?”

While they set up the board game with way too many fiddly bits, Flayn asks, “So, what happened to the old Shambhala? U-uh, I mean, GMU kept a lot of the original monastery buildings and since this school is also really old, why does everything look so modern? Just curious. Heh.”

Chilon smiles widely in the way that specialists do when asked about their specialty. “Oh, you mean the _tunnels_. There’s some _weird shit_ down there. Some people say there’s ghosts, or an entire ancient city! I’m too big to fit through most of them.” He shrugs and sighs. “You’d fit, though. You should join a tunneling expedition while you’re here.”

“Hey! Those tunnels are blocked off for a reason!” Monica lightly punches him on the shoulder. “Don’t make my girlfriend do illegal shit!”

“Oh my, are we at that stage already?” Flayn wonders aloud.

Monica flushes prettily while her friends pretend to gag.

The board game with way too many fiddly bits is finally ready to play, but before they can start explaining the rules to the newcomer, the door bursts opens…

And the Black Eagles, sans Ferdinand, saunter in. They’re really quite dramatic. Flayn applauds. No one else does. Flayn awkwardly lowers her hands.

“They’re coming,” Edelgard says. “Dean Seteth flew off on wyvernback, and we have cause to believe he is leading the two enemy armies. We must stand our ground, or Shambhala will burn.”

(“How’re they gonna burn down anything with snow?” Caspar whispers.)

(“Shoosh,” says Linhardt.)

(“I am also not--” Petra says in a normal voice. Then she whispers, “Oh. I am also not understanding.”)

(“Shoosh,” says Linhardt.)

“Why would he--” Myson starts. He cuts himself off when he looks at Flayn. “Of course. _Kronya_ , you _fool_ , did you kidnap the dragon man’s daughter? Are you a dragon?!” he shouts at Flayn.

(“ _I’_ _ve_ been kidnapped,” Bernie mutters, sniffling softly. “I wanna go back to my room. Why am I here?”)

(“There, there...” Dorothea strokes her dear Bernie-bear’s hair. “Socializing once a month is good for you, we agreed, and you’re five months overdue.”)

(Hubert says nothing. He only lets out a long-suffering sigh as he reaches over to pet the other side of Bernie’s head.)

Edelgard takes control of the situation. “There’s no time to argue. We only got here in time because we drove, but the wyverns should be arriving soon. I need you to tell us where they’ll land.”

“Ah! The field!” Monica leaps up, gesturing for everyone to follow her. “This way, come quickly!”

Before they can get there and set up an ambush, they see it in the sky. They hear it, too. That terrible sleigh…

* * *

_Tunnels_.

The secret ruins underneath Shambhala quickly spring to Claude’s mind when he hears of Flayn’s location. The reason why the school is so full of edgelords has to do with its long and twisted history, first as a secret Agarthan underground base, then as a half-underground insane asylum where patients were said to have been tortured in the basements. Only edgelords would see that sort of history as a selling point for the now mostly above ground university.

There are still tunnels connecting certain building through their basements, useful when the weather is bad, and these are public access. However, there’s a maze of small offshoots that they’ve unsuccessfully tried to block off, and if you’re somehow able to make it in… Well, there are dedicated tunnel exploration clubs. There are rumors, also, of former students who went mad after seeing something no one was meant to see.

Claude stumbled upon this information when he was researching the history of race relations in Fodlan. There’s a lot of debate in academic circles on whether the Agarthans were a separate ethnic group or just a cult. Was their persecution genocide or just the removal of a dangerous cult? Regardless, they are all gone now, though their tunnels remain. And Claude has a map.

It’s not complete by any means, but he only needs to navigate far enough to ambush the enemy.

They crawl in single file, Lorenz’s complaints about his hair being ruined echoing loudly through the dark space. Hilda joins in shortly after, saying, “Eew, I touched a wet spot!” Claude is leading the way, flashlight between his teeth. Hilda’s right behind him, then Marianne, for once abandoning her sense of responsibility. Ignatz, Lorenz, Lysithea, and Leonie follow. Behind them are the Blue Lions – most of them, at least.

The tunnels are narrow, and the buffest of them would not fit. That’s why Raphael, Dimitri, and Dedue rode the wyvern shuttle bus. Ferdinand chose to go with them so he could face his enemies head on, as a true noble should. Sylvain, of course, is partying up in the sleigh. Brave of him to play the role of decoy and human sacrifice.

The rest of them drove, if they had cars. Some carpooled with Professor Byleth, who’s waiting in the parking lot. “I can’t be held responsible if I know nothing of your plans. Come get me when you’re done,” she said when they arrived, and promptly shut the door on them.

They actually spotted the Black Eagles behind them on the highway, but only Linhardt seemed to notice, and he’s too lazy to say anything… Probably. And even if he did give them warning, they still wouldn’t know what to expect.

The tunnel group pops out of said tunnel and into a corner of the basement of an abandoned building on the far side of the field. It takes a bit more wiggling and maneuvering to get past the partially blocked doors, but eventually they come out to a perfect view of the strobing wyvern shuttle bus slowly descending onto the site of the final battle.

* * *

Seteth has no idea what the students are planning, and he really doesn’t care. He doesn’t know why Claude wanted to come with him, but then _didn’t_ get in the bus. He doesn’t know why the occupants of the bus are armed with shovels. He doesn’t know why Sylvain still brought the sleigh when Saint Cichol’s Day is long over. Thankfully it’s no longer blaring carols, but maybe techno religious hymns aren’t any better.

All of this happens in the background for him, as his mind is consumed only with thoughts of Flayn and protecting her from these ~~dastardly Agarthans~~ hooligans. When he gets close to the rival school, he spots only a few places he can easily land a wyvern. The parking lots or… a nice empty field.

He goes for the field to avoid crushing any cars, lands at the edge of it and starts tromping through the snow to get on with his search for Flayn. Very quickly, he realizes his disregard for the sleigh was a mistake, as he’s met with a line of Shambhalan students charging over to engage the intruders in snow war, and in the distance many more crawling out from walkways and peeking out from nearby buildings.

“Halt!” he tries to call out to them, palms raised. “I want no part in this battle; I am merely looking for my daughter. Have you seen--”

Splat! The first projectile hits him mid-word. Before any more can target Seteth, their attention turns to the students behind him, who have quickly and sloppily made a snow fort that Sylvain is dancing on top of.

“You want some of this booty?” he asks, rubbing and slapping his own ass. “Come get some!”

What follows is a battle of a scale that hasn’t been seen on Fodlan’s soil in centuries.

The grossly outnumbered fort-defenders do their best to hold their position with their shovels while more students from around Shambhala’s campus join in to “Drive out the invaders!” When they begin to falter, and the battle look to be quickly over, more invaders are suddenly streaming out from the other side of the field, taking the Shambhalans by surprise. There were no footprints in the snow that way, so how did they get there?!

The Shambhalan students are now caught in a pincer, and even with superior numbers they’re unable to fight back effectively. The rush, and their lack of commanders, is damning. And yet, they keep coming. Garreg Mach’s forces are in trouble as well, fighting tooth and nail not to get swarmed… and then the Black Eagles arrive with the reinforcements, fighting on the side of Shambhala, and it becomes civil war all over again.

Snow is flying every which way. Seteth tries his best to wade through the carnage, asking anyone whose attention he can catch for half a second, “Have you seen my daughter?” More often than not, he has to duck out of the way of a projectile right after. Eventually, he retreats behind his wyvern at the edge of the field and watches the battle rage on.

One, two, three direct hits! Sylvain falls from his booty shaking hill, the remnants of the collapsed fort. Felix rushes over to protect him, but they fall to the swarm. And there they lie together, against a broken wall, hands clasped.

“You came…” Sylvain says.

Felix, breathless, closes his eyes. “We promised… to die together…”

On the other end of the battle, Edelgard lies gasping her last breaths. In front of her is Dorothea, desperately fending off two attackers.

“Run, Dorothea! Save… yourself…”

“Never! I will defend my emperor to the death! You’ll never take us alive!”

It’s the last thing she screams before Raphael shovels a wall of snow over the both of them.

“No!” Hubert shouts, too late to save his lady. If only he hadn’t been caught in a duel with that traitor Ferdinand.

Ferdinand steps around to block Hubert’s path yet again. “It’s time to end this,” he says, and twirls his shovel like a lance. He scoops and flings a heavy spray of snow that knocks Hubert down.

“Curses. How could I have been defeated so easily?”

“ _Sports_ ,” Ferdinand says with a grin. Then he tosses his weapon aside to straddle and kiss the defeated enemy lieutenant. He is immediately icicle-stabbed in the back by none other than Bernadetta who runs off screaming how sorry she is. As he falls, finally reunited with his lover, he gasps, “Et tu, Bernie?”

When Lorenz falls, he quickly reaches into his coat to bring out a spray of red rose petals that scatter across the snow like blood.

When Hilda falls, she also reaches into a pocket and pretends to vomit glitter.

In the end, it’s complete slaughter on both sides. The snow on the entire field is trampled into unusable mush, until the last ones standing are flinging handfuls of slush at each other. Slowly they all fall too, one by one until… there is…

Claude. He looks around. No one’s left to take him down. He can’t even ride his Yeti into the sunset because there lies Dimitri, monstrous strength finally suppressed under a pile of ten bodies, all five shovels stabbed upright into the ground around him like a grave for a warrior king. Dedue’s hand is still wrapped around the last one even as he is slumped down.

To the far edges of the field, three wyverns yawn. The bus-sleigh strobes on, though crookedly, since the speakers and half the lights are smashed. Claude shrugs and pushes his last handful of slush onto his own cheek.

“Ah, a critical hit!” he says, and falls over. “Oh no, everyone’s dead, it’s a draw. I guess we’ll just have to do this again next year.”

Seteth reemerges from behind the wyverns, a deep, deep frown on his face. He walks slowly. Menacingly. Until he towers over Claude’s corpse. “Absolutely not. No more snow wars, ever.”

Claude smiles up, unaffected. “How else are we supposed to celebrate Saint Cichol’s birthday?”

“Like anyone else’s birthday. Get me a cake.”

Flayn, who had been watching the battle from the Shambhalan side of the field, chooses that exact moment to bound over and gasp in excitement. “Oh father, can we come out now? Hi, I’m Cethleann!”

She waves happily to the field of corpses. Some hands raise from the ground to wave back.

The next year there are no more massive snow fights.

But there are a lot of keyhole jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this story! :)
> 
> And yes, Seteth gets a lot of risque gifts for birthday. And yes, Flayn takes a few to test out with her girlfriend because otherwise they'd go to waste.


End file.
